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LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNl/^ 

RIVERSIDE 


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JhjLMX  k}\mL  (^''^^^  - 


Stars  of  the  Desert 


INDIA'S  LOVE  LYRICS 

Collected     and     arranged     in     verse     by 
Lalrence  Hope 

LAST  POEMS 

Translations  from  The  Book  of  Indian  Love 
bv  Laurence  Hope 

SONGS  FROM  THE  GARDEN  OF  KAMA 
By  Laurence  Hope.  Illustrated  from  pho- 
tographs by  Mrs.  Eardley  Wilmot.  Large 
Octavo  Special  Edition 


^^^c-^A*:..on,  ^\>cs.  )vw\oL.  V\«^ret%c^io^>rNj^ 


1 


STARS 
OF  THE  DESERT 

BY 

/  LAURENCE  HOPE  r. 

Author  of    "INDIA'S   LOVE   LYRICS"   "LAST   POEMS" 
"SONGS  FROM  THE  GARDEN  OF  KAMA" 


VfA 


NEW  YORK:  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 

LONDON:  WILLIAM  HEINEMANN 

MCMXV 


1 


v-^CN."::.  n 


First  Printed,  September  1903 
Reprinted,  January  1904,  January  and  November  1905, 
May  and  August  1906,  June  and  November  1907,  August 
1908.  March  and  October  1909,  July  and  December  1910, 
October  1911,  August  1912.  September  1913,  May  1914, 
February  1915. 


Printtd  in  Grtat  Britain 


Contents 

Page 

To  Aziz  :  Song  of  Mahomed  Akram  I 

Surf  Song  2 

Oh,  Life,  I  have  taken  you  for  My  Lover  3 

Illusion  6 

Sleep  7 

Song  of  the  Enfifa  River  9 

The  River  of  Pearls  at  Fez  :  Translation  12 

Syed  Amir  13 

Au  Salon  15 

The  Lute  Player  of  Casa  Rlanca  16 

The  Hospital  on  the  Shore  19 

Among  the  Sandhills  20 

The  Cactus  21 

Lalla  Radha  and  the  Churel  22 

Rabat  :  Morocco  28 

Gathered  from  Ternina's  Face  30 

Opium  :  Li's  Riverside  Hut  at  Taku  32 

In  the  Water  Palace  34 

The  Crucifix  40 

Wind  o'  the  Waste  :  on  the  Wall  of  Pekin  41 

Happiness  42 

The  Orange  Garden  44 

Droit  du  Seigneur  46 


Korean  oong  c^ 

Stars  of  the  Desert  (Mahomed  Akram's  Night  Watch)  53 

The  Fisherman's  Bride  cc 

The  End  5- 

The  Consolation  of  Dreams  5o 

Men  Should  be  Judged  52 

The  Island  of  Desolation  :  Song  of  Mohamed  Akram  63 

A  Sea  Pink  6c 

The  Date-garden  6g 

Trees  of  Wharncliffe  House  71 

All  Farewells  should  be  gently  spoken  yt- 

Garden  Song  «y 

The  Match-maker  70 

Vain-Glory  3l 

Worth  while  g^ 

Invitation  to  the  Jungle  g^ 

The  Sinjib  Tree  85 

The  Outlaw  gg 

Return  !  oi 

Philosophy  of  Morning  02 
The  Slave 
The  Seasons 

Devotion  of  Aziz  to  Mir  Khan  100 

The  Purple  Dusk  log 

Hamlili,  the  Sultan  of  Song  lOO 

Love  is  the  Symbol  of  a  Sacred  Thing  1 1 1 

Istar-i-Sahara  j  j , 

Love  the  Careless  i  15 

Shouldst  Thou  Consent  i  j  g 

Reminiscence  of  Maeterlinck's  "  Life  of  the  Bee  "  i  20 

On  Deck  121 

The  Ocean   Tramp  121 
ri 


96 

98 


Page 

The  Mirrored  Stars  of  Tangier  124 

At  Simrole  Tank  II^ 

The  Guru's  Tale  :  The  Enchanted  Night  ltd 

Among  the  Fuchsias  129 

At  the  Taking  of  the  Fort  I30 

Twilight  133 

To  Aziz  135 

In  the  Vineyards  1 36 

In  the  African  Desert  137 

The  City  :  Song  of  Mahomed  Akram  140 

The  Jungle  Fear  142 

Disloyal  144 

The  Court  of  Pomegranates  I46 

The  Tower  of  Victory  1 49 


■^4 


v« 


To  Aziz :   Song  of  Mahomed  Akram 


Your  beauty  puts  a  barb  into  my  soul, 

Strive  as  I  will  it  never  lets  me  o[o. 
My  love  has  passed  the  frontiers  of  control, 

You  are  so  fair  and  I  desire  you  so. 

Others  may  come  and  go,  they  are  to  me 
But  changing  mirage,  transient,  untrue, 

My  faithlessness  is  but  fidelity 

Since  I  am  never  faithful,  but  to  you. 

You  are  not  kind  to  me,  but  many  are 

And  all  their  kindness  docs  not  make  them  dear  ; 
It  may  be  you  deceive  me  when  afar 

Even  as  always  you  torment  me  near. 

Yet  is  your  beauty  so  divine  a  thing, 

So  irreplaceable,  so  haunting  sweet 
A^rainst  all  reason,  I  am  fain  to  R'mQ- 

My  life,  my  youth,  myself,  beneath  your  feet. 


Surf  Song 


My  little  one,  come  and  listen 

To  the  calling  of  the  sea, 
And  watch  how  the  wet  sands  glisten 

Where  the  surf  has  left  them  free. 
As  thou  and  the  wind  together 

Shall  frolic  along  the  strand  ; 
Thy  feet  as  light  as  a  feather 

Will  hardly  dent  the  sand. 

Unwind  the  veils  that  enfold  thee, 

Thou  never  wast  shy  with  me  ; 
The  sea  will  rejoice  to  hold  thee. 

The  stars  will  delight  to  see. 
The  beauty  thou  shalt  discover 

Oh,  Morning  Star  of  my  heart, 
Will  dazzle  even  thy  lover 

Who  knows  how  fair  thou  art ! 


Oh,  Life,  I  have  taken  you  for  My  Lover ! 

(To  Arthur  E.  J.  Legge,  wlio  suggested  this  idea) 

Oh,  Life,  I  have  taken  you  for  my  Lover, 
1  rent  your  veils  and  1  found  you  fair  ; 

If  a  fault  or  fiiiling  my  eyes  discover, 
I  will  not  see  it  ;  it  is  not  there  ! 


I  know,  if  I  knew,  I  should  hold  you  dearer, 
Should  understand,  ///  understood^ 

For  I  worship  more,  as  you  draw  me  nearer, 
Your  reckless  Evil,  your  perfect  Good. 


In  the  Jungle  gloom,  we  have  watched  and  waited. 
For  stealthy  Panthers,  that  prowl  by  night, 

At  the  end  of  some  weary  march,  belated. 

We  heard  strange  tales  by  the  camp-fire  light. 


We  have  lain  on  the  starlit  sands,  untented. 

While  low-hung  planets  rose  white  and  fair, 

And  in  moonlit  gardens,  silver  and  scented, 

Oh,  Life,  my  Lover,  how  sweet  you  were  I 


a 


Forbidden  and  barbarous  rites  were  shown  us, 
In  rock-hewn  Temples  and  jungle  caves, 

And  the  smoke-wreathed  home  of  the  dead  has  known  us,- 
The  burning-ghat  by  the  Ganges  waves 

Ah,  the  long,  lone  ride  through  the  starlit  hours, 
The  long,  lone  watch  on  the  starlit  sea. 

And  the  flame  and  flush  of  the  morning  flowers 
When  Life,  my  Lover,  was  kind  to  me  ! 

Betimes  we  were  out  on  the  Sea,  together  ; 

The  vessel  raced  down  the  great  green  slope 
Of  mountainous  waves,  in  desperate  weather  ; 

The  hearts  of  men  were  adrift  from  hope. 

As  over  the  deck,  in  exultant  fashion, 

The  violent  water  crashed  and  fell, 
1  knew,  through  the  joy  of  your  reckless  passion, 

Agonised  fear  of  the  last  farewell. 

But  I  follow  you  always,  unresisting. 

To  lowest  depth  ;  to  uttermost  brink. 
From  a  thirst  like  mine  there  is  no  desisting 

Though  given  poison  for  wine  to  drink. 

You  may  do  your  utmost,  you  will  not  shake  me, 
Your  faith  may  falter  ;  my  faith  is  true. 

Oh,  Life,  vou  may  shatter  and  rend  and  break  me, 
All  Pain  is  Pleasure,  that  springs  trom  you  I 


In  the  height  and  heat  of  your  wildest  passion, 
You  had  your  uttermost  will  of  mc, 

And  when  have  I  asked  for  the  least  compassion  ? 
A  lover  loved  is  a  lover  free  ! 

Though,  with  never  a  word  of  farewell  spoken 
In  lonely  wilds  of  some  Desert  place, 

You  have  flung  me  trom  you,  adrift  and  broken 
To  wait  the  child  of  your  last  embrace. 

And  never  my  faith  nor  my  fervour  faltered, 
Until  you  turned  to  my  lips  again, 

When,  my  eager  longing  for  you  unaltered 

Your  first  kiss  cancelled  my  months  of  pain. 

Ah,  Life,  you  may  torture  my  soul,  betray  me. 
The  right  is  yours,  as  Lover  and  Lord. 

And  when  in  the  climax  of  all,  you  slay  me. 
My  lips  in  dying  will  seek  your  sword. 


Illusion 


Thinking  you  had  a  heart  that  love  could  break, 
A  lovely  gentle  soul  that  might  awake, 
I  held  you  tenderly  for  cither's  sake, 

And  showed  you  nothing  but  love's  ecstasy. 

Now,  though  you  have  no  heart  to  melt  or  burn, 
No  soul  to  wonder,  meditate  or  yearn. 
Your  beauty  is  a  fact  ;  lie  still  and  learn 

Something  of  passionate  love's  intensity. 


sleep 

(The  Moorish  Slave,  at  Fidala,  Morocco) 

There  is  something  so  beseeching  in  the  attitude  of  sleep, 

A  pathetic  resignation,  most  appealing  to  the  heart. 
There  must  surely  be  some  secret  that  the  eyes  in  slumber 

keep, 
Which    the    lips,  on    their  awakening,    could    not,    if 

they  would,  impart. 

See  yon  Slave  from  Sus,  recumbent,  with  his  ebon  arms 

outspread 
On    the    marigold    he   crushes    to  a  sheet  of  golden 

flowers. 
How  the  mystery  of  dreaming  lends  a  halo  to  his  head, 

And  exalts  him  to  a  level  never  reached  in  waking  hours. 

In  the  form  that  lies  impassive,  while  the  sea-wind  comes 

and  goes 
And   uplifts   his  rags  in   pity,  on    its  cool   refreshing 

breath, 
There    is   something    so   prophetic  of  the  Last  and  Great 

Repose  : 
Sleep  has  borrowed,  in  its  quietude,  the   Dignity  of 

Death. 

7 


Though  his  parted  lips  are  wordless,  though  he  breathes  no 

uttered  prayer 
Yet  his  silence  seems  imploring  "  Let  me  deem  the 

noonday  night. 
For  mj  dreams  are  velvet-breasted,  and  they  shelter  me  from 

care, 
I  entreat  thee  not  to  wake  me  to  the  sorrows  of  the 

light." 

Ah,  sleep  on,  in  peace,  my  brother,  to  awaken  when  thou 

wilt. 
From  the  dreams  that  treat  thee  kindly,  and  the  rest 

that  sets  thee  free. 
With  the  wild  fig  for  thy  canopy,  the  marigolds  thy  quilt. 
And,  to  serve  thee  for  a  lullaby,  the  thunder  of  the  Sea. 


Song  of  the  Enfifa  River 

(In  Memory  of  Abdullah,  drowned  at  sixteen,  on  the  road  to  Rabat, 
Morocco) 

At  day-break,  when  ♦ihe  tide  was  low 

He  came  to  bathe  his  slender  feet, 
And  laughing,  sported  to  and  fro, 

Across  my  waters  cool  and  sweet. 


Obedient  to  his  Faith's  decree 

His  sable  hair  was  shorn  away, 
One  curl  was  left,  that  floating  free, 

I  longed  to  deck  with  silver  spray. 

His  eyes  were  wide  and  full  of  light. 

Young  eyes,  where  dreams  and  fancies  glow. 
There  was  no  star  in  Heaven  so  bright. 

And  I  reflect  the  stars,  and  know. 


He  gave  himself  to  my  embrace. 

Ah,  Youth,  confiding  and  unwise  ! 

My  kisses  clustered  on  his  tace 

How  should  1  render  up  my  prize  ? 


Yet  he  withdrew  ;  my  waves  were  weak. 
He  loitered  on  my  banks  awhile, 

Shook  my  caresses  from  his  cheek, 

And  left  me  with  a  careless  smile. 


I  let  him  leave  ;  my  tides  were  low. 

But,  seeking  succour  of  the  Sea 
At  noon  I  felt  the  breakers  flow 

Across  the  bar,  and  join  with  me. 

I  waited  in  the  heat  ;  at  length 

Again  he  came  to  bathe  alone, 

Then,  in  the  fulness  of  my  strength, 

1  caught  and  held  him  for  my  own  ! 

His  strong  young  arms  apart  he  flung. 
His  red  lips  cried,  I  had  no  care. 

In  eddies  round  his  limbs  I  clung, 
And  rippled  in  and  out  his  hair. 

I  bore  him  downwards  to  the  Sea, 

The  white  surf  met  us  on  the  sand. 

His  beauty  was  made  one  with  me 

Who  saw  and  loved  it  on  the  land. 

I  laid  him  down  upon  the  bar. 

Played  with  his  hair,  and  kissed  his  eyes. 
How  cold  these  mortal  lovers  are  ! 

He  sleeps  and  makes  me  no  replies. 

"0 


My  tides  run  low  ;  he  will  not  wake, 

His  hand  drifts,  like  an  empty  shell. 

I  stole  him  for  his  beauty's  sake, 
Alas,  Enfifa  did  not  well  1 

His  young  lips  show  no  stir  of  breath. 

Ah, — I  begin  to  understand, 
And  I  remember  : — this  is  Death  ! 

The  haunting  terror  of  the  land. 


II 


The  River  of  Pearls  at  Fez;  Translation 


One  eveninc:  wc  sat  toG^ether 

By  the  river  of  Pearls  at  Fez, 

Stringing  verses  and  sometimes  singing. 

My  gaze  followed  the  beautiful  boy 

Who,  with  a  swift  and  delicate  movement, 

Flung  the  wine-cup  over  his  shoulder  ; 

The  ruby  drops  glittered  and  fell 

Bright  in  the  dying  sunshine. 

The  River  of  Pearls  shone  like  a  sword  in  the  grass, 

Not  disdaining 

The  work  of  turning  the  waterwheel, 

And  the  sun,  reluctant,  lingered  about  the  tree-tops 

In  a  golden  mist  of  farewell. 

Many  the  tears  that  have  fallen  since. 

Many  the  nights  that  have  passed, 

But  I  remember 

The  River  of  Pearls  at  Fez 

And  Seomar  whom  I  loved. 


12 


Syed  Amir 


Syed  Amir  is  dead,  and  his  numerous  foes 
Are  hushed  in  a  breathless  awe  of  amazed  relief. 
The  hearts  of  his  friends  are  cold  as  the  Tirah  snows, 
And  I  am  blind  and  deaf  in  the  Grip  of  my  Grief. 
My  Soul  has  borrowed  a  portion  of  Pain  from  Hell. 
Oh,  Syed  Amir,  my  Brother  and  Friend,  Farewell  1 


His  women  weep,  but  a  woman's  tears  flow  lightly. 
A  bauble  or  two,  or  a  child,  can  soon  console. 
But  I,  who  am  strange  to  tears,  lie  sleepless,  nightly. 
Feeling  the  Fangs  of  Grief  in  my  desolate  soul. 
I  maddened  myself  with  Churus^  it  could  not  cure  me- 
Ransacked  the  Bazar,  to  beg  at  the  hands  of  lust 
An  hour's  respite,  but  how  was  sin  to  allure  me. 
Who  know  the  beauty  of  Syed  Amir  is  dust  ? 


A  little  while  I  wander  in  Tribulation, 
In  a  Feud  or  two,  or  a  few  light  loves  take  part, 
But  Death  will  come,  and  this  is  my  Consolation, 
Men  live  not  long  with  a  stricken  and  wounded  heart. 
What  further  challenge  from  Fate  can  I  hope  or  fear, 
Who  mourn  the  ruined  glory  ot  Syed  Amir  ? 

'3 


All  gifts  were  Syed  Amir's  ;  an  Arrestive  Beauty 

That  caught  men's  breath  when  he  passed,  Serene  and  Royal, 

A  clear  and  delicate  Mind,  where  Honour  and  Duty, 

Sentried  the  gate,  that  nothing  might  pass  disloyal, 

And  these  are  taken  from  Khorassan  for  ever. 

Their  light  is  quenched  in  the  land  where  he  used  to  dwell, 

But  I,  who  loved  him,  cease  from  loving  him  never, 

Oh,  Syed  Amir,  my  Brother  and  Friend,  Farewell  1 


H 


Au  Salon 


A  SKY  intensely  blue,  a  low,  white  wall 

Against  it  heaps  of  up-blown  yellow  sand, 

A  sleeping  figure,  holding  in  her  hand 

Some  scarlet  cactus  blossom  ;  that  was  all. 

And  yet  so  mellowly  the  sunbeams  fell 

Upon  the  sunburnt  limbs,  such  subtle  play 

Of  rosy  light  and  tender  shadow  lay 

Upon  the  upturned  face,  that  all  could  tell 

An  artist  painted  with  a  poet's  eyes  ; 

And  warmly  an  enthusiastic  glow 

Ran  through  the  groups  that  criticised  below 

While  one,  who  gazed  with  pleasure  and  surprise 

Said,  and  I  do  not  think  he  said  amiss, 

"  He  was  her  lover  when  he  painted  this  !  " 


IS 


The  Lute  Player  of  Casa  Blanca 


No  others  sing  as  you  have  sung 

Oh,  Well  Beloved  of  me! 
So  glad  you  are,  so  lithe  and  young, 

As  joyous  as  the  sea, 
That  dances  in  the  golden  rain 

The  falling  sunbeams  flino-, — 
Ah,  stoop  and  kiss  me  once  again 

Then  take  your  lute  and  sing. 

Oh,  Lute  player,  my  Lute  player, 
Take  up  your  lute  and  sing  ! 


The  wind  comes  blowing,  light  and  free  : 

In  all  the  summer  isles 
No  laughing  thing  it  found  to  see 

As  brilliant  as  your  smiles. 
You  are  the  very  heart  of  Youth, 

The  very  Soul  of  Song, 
That  lovely  dream,  made  living  truth. 

For  which  the  poets  long. 

Oh,  Lute  player,  my  Lute  player, 

The  very  Soul  of  Song  ! 
J6 


Ah,  dear  and  dark-eyed  Lute  player 

This  joy  is  ahnost  pain, 
To  reach,  when  evening  cools  the  air. 

Your  level  roof  again. 
To  see  the  palms,  erect  and  slim, 

Against  a  golden  sky, 
And  hear,  as  twilight  closes  dim. 

The  MoLiddin's  mournful  cry. 

Across  your  songs,  my  Lute  player. 
The  Faithful's  evening  cry. 

Each  slender  finger  lightly  slips, 

To  its  appointed  strings. 
Ah,  the  sweet  scarlet,  parted  lips 

Of  One  Beloved,  who  sings  ! 
Ah,  the  soft  radiance  of  eyes 

By  love  and  music  lit  ! 
What  need  of  Heaven  beyond  the  skies 

Since  here  we  enter  it  ? 

You  make  my  Heaven,  my  Lute  player. 
And  hold  the  keys  of  it  ! 

And  when  the  music  waxes  strong 

I  hear  the  sound  of  War, 
The  drums  are  throbbing  in  the  song. 

The  clamour  and  the  roar. 
The  Desert's  self  is  in  the  strain. 

The  agony  of  slaves, 
The  winds  that  sigh,  as  if  in  pain. 

About  forgotten  graves. 

Oh,  Lute  player,  my  Lute  player, 
Those  lonely  Desert  graves  ! 

B  27 


The  sightless  sockets,  whence  the  eyes, 

Were  wrenched  or  burnt  away, 
The  mangled  form  that  e'er  it  dies, 

Becomes  the  jackals'  prey. 
The  forced  caress,  the  purchased  smile, 

Ere  youth  be  yet  awake, — 
Ah,  break  your  melody  awhile 

Or  else  my  heart  will  break  ! 

1  sometimes  think,  my  Lute  player, 
You  wish  my  heart  to  break  ! 

The  sunset  fires  desert  the  West, 

The  stars  invade  the  sky. 
Lover  of  mine,  'tis  time  to  rest 

And  let  the  music  die. 
Though  Melody  awake  the  morn. 

Yet  Love  should  end  the  day. 
I  kiss  your  hand  the  strings  have  worn 

And  take  your  lute  away. 

I  kiss  your  hand,  my  Lute  player, 
And  take  the  Lute  away. 

At  twilight  on  this  roof  of  ours, 

So  lonely  and  so  high. 
We  catch  the  scent  of  all  the  flowers 

Ascending  to  the  sky. 
Sultan  of  Song,  whose  burning  eyes 

Outblaze  the  stars  above. 
Forget  not,  when  the  sunset  dies 

You  reign  as  Lord  of  Love  ! 

Ah,  come  to  me,  my  Lute  player, 


i8 


Lover,  and  Lord  of  Love  ! 


The  Hospital  on  the  Shore 


The  youthful  swimmers  come  up  on  the  beach, 

Naked  and  fresh  from  the  kiss  of  the  sea, 
1  hear  the  sound  of  their  light-hearted  speech 
As  it  is  with  them,  it  was  once  with  me  ! 

Oh,  Death,  grant  me  pity  :  just  one  day  more, 
And  let  me  go  down  again  to  the  shore. 

I  could  have  died  in  the  rush  of  the  air. 

Mid  crashing  water  and  petulant  spray. 
The  surf  in  my  teeth,  the  wind  in  my  hair, 
Rejoicing,  exultant,  even  as  they. 

But  to  meet  Death  here,  ...  in  this  walled-In 

cage, 
I  am  dumb  with  terror  and  blind  with  rage. 

Have  pity  !     Reprieve  me  !  just  one  more  ride. 

White  sand  beneath  us,  white  planets  above, 
One  last  long  sail  with  the  ebb  of  the  tide. 
One  lilac  evening  of  delicate  love. 

One  lingering  look  at  those  eyes  of  his. 
To  remember  through  the  Eternities. 


19 


Among  the  Sandhills 


Lie  still,  Beloved,  I  also  see  the  day 

Shoot  his  white  arrows  through  the  trembling  sky, 
But  what  is  dawn  to  us,  who  cast  away 

All  sense  of  time  that  mars  our  ecstasy  ? 

The  scented  orange  bushes  check  the  breeze 
Granting  in  tribute  many  waxen  stars, 

And  aromatic  Eucalyptus  trees 

Defy  the  sun  with  grey-green  scimitars. 

Since  fate  has  given  us  this  garden  love, 

And  Time  and  Space,  for  once,  have  acquiesced, 

Ah,  take  no  heed  of  paling  skies  above 

Let  us  deem  night  is  with  us  yet,  and  rest. 

Let  us  lie  still  and  drift  away  in  dreams. 

Back  to  the  jewelled  kingdom  of  the  night. 

Whose  golden  stars  with  dimly  radiant  gleams 
Lit  up  your  loveliness  for  my  delight. 

Once  we  are  risen  all  the  cares  of  day 

Will  seize  and  bind  us  to  their  wanton  will. 

Why  should  we  own  that  night  has  passed  away  ? 
Oh,  as  you  value  love,  lie  still,  lie  still  1 

20 


The  Cactus 


The  scarlet  flower,  with  never  a  sister  leaf, 

Stemless,  springs  from  the  edge  of  the  Cactus-thorn  ! 
Thus  from  the  ragged  wounds  of  desperate  grief 

A  beautiful  Thought,  perfect  and  pure,  is  born* 


tt 


Lalla  Radha  and  the  Churel 


His  sixteen  years  had  left  him  very  fair, 

"Tinted  his  cheeks  with  soft  and  delicate  bloom, 

Added  new  lustre  to  his  clustered  hair, 

And  filled  his  amber  eyes  with  tender  gloom. 

He  sought  some  unknown  thing,  he  knew  not  what, 
His  scarce-seen  bride,  a  child,  was  far  away, 

Desiring  love,  as  yet  he  knew  it  not. 

Sleepless  by  night  he  grew,  forlorn  by  day. 

Priest 

"Ah,  go  not  near  the  Peepul  trees. 
That  shiver  in  the  evening  breeze, 
A  young  Churel  might  hide  in  these  ! 

"  And  should  she  see  thee,  and  desire, 
Then  will  she  burn  thee  in  soft  fire, 
Till  in  her  arms  thou  shalt  expire  !  " 

Lalla  Radha 

"  But  who  and  what  is  this  Churel, 
Who  loves  in  Peepul  trees  to  dwell, 

•  22 


»» 


The  Peepul,  where  the  Koel  sings 
In  frenzied  songs,  of  amorous  things  ? 

Priest 

"  When,  with  her  child  unborn,  a  woman  dies, 

Her  spirit  takes  the  form  of  a  Churel, 

A  maiden's  form,  with  soft,  alluring  eyes. 

Where  promises  of  future  rapture  dwell. 

Yet  is  her  loveliness,  though  passing  sweet, 
Marred  by  the  backward-turning  of  her  feet, 

"  She  sits  in  branches  of  the  Peepul  trees, 

Until  beneath,  a  passing  youth  she  sees. 

Should  she  desire  him,  swift,  she  will  alight, 

Entreating  softly  *  Stay  with  me  to-night ! ' 
No  safety  then  for  him  ;   unless  he  flies, 
Soon,  in  the  furnace  of  her  love,  he  dies  1  '* 

I^ALLA  Radha 

"  But  if  indeed  these  things  are  so, 

Yet  what  am  I,  that  she  should  care, 
To  watch  me  as  I  pass  below. 

Or  notice  me  and  find  me  fair  ?  " 

Priest 

*' Yours  are  the  happiest  gifts  that  the  Gods  have  given. 
Who  have  never  been  over  ready  with  gifts  to  part. 

Youth,  the  divine  reminiscence  of  some  lost  Heaven, 

Beauty,  the  dream  of  the  eyes,  the  desire  of  the  heart. 

23 


"Beauty,  that  women  adore  and  secretly  pray  for, 

To  find,  to  possess,  to  bequeath  to  the  world  again, 

The  loveliest  stake  that  Life  allows  them  to  play  for. 

At  the  risk  of  death  ;  with   certain   foreknowledge  of 

pain," 

Dancing  Girl  {singing  in  the  distance) 

"  What  will  you  do  with  your  seventeenth  year. 

You  with  the  eyes  of  a  dove  ? 
Give  it  to  Love,  he  will  hold  you  lightly, 
Betray  you  and  wound  you  more  than  slightly, 
But  lead  you  into  Paradise  nightly, 
Give  it  to  Love  !  !  " 

He  heard  and  waited  awhile,  but  the  days  flew  by, 
And  brought  a  more  brilliant  sun  to  the  azure  sky. 

The  scent  of  the  flowers  grew  stronger,  grew  keen  as  pain. 
And  Youth's  sweet  ferment  rose  from  his  heart  to  his  brain 

Until,  when  the  west  was  red,  and  the  evening  breeze 
Broke  fresh  on  his  lips,  he  went  to  the  Peepul  trees. 


Song  of  the  Churel 

"Ah,  come  to  me,  I  want  you  so  ! 

Why  will  you  make  me  wait  ? 
The  golden  sunsets  burn  and  glow. 
The  twilight  moments  come  and  go, 
I  watch  you  wander  to  and  fro, 

Why  do  you  hesitate  ? 
«4 


"  So  very  brief  Youth's  season  is, 

Ah,  wherefore  waste  a  single  night  ? 

Put  up  your  lips  for  mine  to  kiss, 

Take  the  first  promise  of  delight. 


"  Upon  Life's  pale  and  tragic  face, 

Youth  passes  like  a  blush. 
It  blooms,  an  evanescent  grace, 
Alas,  for  such  a  little  space, 
And  fading,  hardly  leaves  a  trace, 
Of  all  its  radiant  flush. 


"  We  cannot  force  one  night  to  last, 

Or  stay  a  single  star  at  will. 
And  though  the  Pulse  of  Youth  is  fast. 

The  Wings  of  Time  are  swifter  still. 

"  So  much  I  want  your  silken  hair. 

Your  youth,  intact  and  free, 
A  thousand  nights,  serenely  fair. 
With  scented  silence  everywhere. 
Consenting  stars  and  pliant  air. 

Would  pass  too  soon  for  me. 

"Too  soon  the  rising  flood  of  morn 

Our  isle  of  night  would  overflow, 
And  force  upon  our  eyes  forlorn 

Its  lovely  but  unwanted  glow. 

*5 


"The  magic  Garden  of  Delight 

Is  ours  ;  1  hold  the  key. 
Take  up  Love's  sceptre,  yours  by  right 
And  learn  his  mystery  and  might, 
Ah,  come  and  rei^n  with  me  to-night. 

In  silent  ecstasy  ! 

"  Come,  while  the  silver  stars  above 

Rain  down  their  light  serene  and  still, 

And  if  you  cannot  come  for  love. 

Ah,  come  on  any  terms  you  will  1  '* 


How  should  the  youth  resist,  deny, 
Or  turn  his  lips  from  hers  away  ? 

Nightly,  beneath  th'  unheeding  sky. 

The  fierce  Churel  caressed  her  prey. 

Nightly,  the  flickering  Peepul  trees. 
Echoed  his  soft  and  broken  sighs, 

While  the  faint  eddies  of  the  breeze 
In  pity  fanned  his  sleepless  eyes. 

Frailer  he  grew,  more  wan  and  pale, 
Possession  only  fed  Desire, 

Like  wax  he  felt  his  forces  fail 

Consumed  in  her  insistent  fire. 

26 


Till  lost  in  dreams,  his  fainting  breath 
Shed  on  her  lips  in  one  last  sigh, 

He  neither  knew  nor  noticed  death. 
This  is  the  loveliest  way  to  die  I 

Beneath  the  Peepuls  dead  he  lay, 

Pale  on  his  face  the  starlight  fell. 

In  ecstasy  he  passed  away. 

Such  is  the  love  of  the  Churel. 


27 


Rabat :   Morocco 


Oh,  walled,  white  Cit}-,  rising  from  the  plain. 

Between  the  grey-green  grass,  the  grey-blue  skies, 

How  we  have  longed  tor  you,  and  watched  in  vain 
Till  your  pale  beauty  rose  upon  our  eyes. 

From  Orange  groves,  beyond  your  gated  walls, 
Faint  scents  of  Citron  bloom  float  far  away. 

Upon  each  wind-worn  face  the  perfume  falls 
Till  we  forget  the  journey  of  the  day. 

Forget  the  weary  march,  its  dust  and  heat. 
The  frequent  carrion  that  taints  the  air. 

The  three-inch  spur,  the  lame  and  stumbling  feet, 

The  pointed  stirrup,  clogged  with  blood  and  hair. 

Forget  the  wretched  brute,  that  strains  and  strives, 
Staggers  a  few  more  paces  with  his  load 

Then  talis  and  dies,  beneath  the  open  knives. 
The  kicks  and  curses  of  the  savage  road. 

Let  us  forget  (in  such  forgetfulness 

Lies  the  one  chance,  perhaps,  of  life  at  all !) 

While  our  burnt  lips  receive  the  soft  caress 

Exhaled  from  Orange  flowers  beyond  the  wall. 
28 


Ah,  sea-set  City,  grant  my  heart's  request ! 

Where  your  slim  minarets  soar  white  above 
Your  fragrant  Orange  gardens,  grant  me  rest, 

And  from  some  child  of  yours,  a  little  love. 
Ah,  walled,  white  City,  grant  me  a  little  love  ! 


29 


Gathered  from  Ternina's  face 


(To  N.  L.  K.  in  memory  of  June  23rd) 

Tristan,  Oh,  Tristan  !     Death  has  set  us  free  ! 
There  is  no  barrier  now,  'twixt  me  and  thee. 
For  Fate  allows  my  lips  their  "  Come  to  me"  !  ! 

Tristan  ! 

We,  from  this  night,  no  more  of  night  shall  know  ; 
For  us,  no  paling  stars,  no  dawning  glow  ; 
Ah,  I  am  more  than  glad  to  have  it  so, 

Tristan  I 

I  feared  the  poison,  now  I  feel  it  thrill 
Through  all  my  veins  like  liquid  fire,  and  still 
It  brings  no  pain,  nor  any  sense  of  ill, 

Tristan  1 

Only  a  tender,  strange  desire  for  thee. 
While  the  winged  moments  perish  silently. 
Ah,  come,  lest  Death  forestall  thee,  come  to  me, 

Tristan  1 

Most  gracious  Death,  who  sets  me  free  to  speak ; 
He  strengthens  me,  who  makes  all  others  weak. 
Brings  blushes  and  no  pallor  to  my  cheek, 

Tristan  I 
30 


Listen  ;  I  say  the  words  I  could  not  say 
Had  we  to  rise  and  meet  another  day, 
But  in  the  falling  shades  of  Death,  1  may  ! 

t 

There  will  be  no  to-morrow  ;  I  shall  keep 

Tristan  for  ever  in  my  arms  asleep. 

Not  even  dreams  will  share  a  rest  so  deep. 

My  face  will  be  the  last  face  thou  shalt  see. 

Thy  spirit,  entering  on  Eternity, 

Will  pause  to  take  an  ultimate  kiss  from  me. 


Tristan  I 


Tristan  ! 


Tristan ! 


Ah,  come  to  me,  since  Death  has  given  the  nc^ht. 
I  love  thee  so,  I  could  have  died  to-night 
Without  the  poison's  aid,  from  sheer  delight, 

Tristan  ! 

Much  may  be  done  by  those  about  to  die. 
Much  may  be  said  by  lips  that  say  "Good-bye," 
On  which  the  Last  Great  Silence  soon  must  lie, 

Tristan  ! 

With  Death  to  shelter  me,  I  greatly  dare, 

My  lips  seek  things  mine  eyes  have  long  found  fair. 

This  is  thy  mouth, — and  this,  thy  falling  hair, 

Tristan ! 

Thy  falling  hair, — so  soft  upon  my  brow, 
Never  a  lover  has  been  loved  as  thou  I 
If  this  is  Death,  I  have  not  lived  till  now  ! 


Tristan  ! 

31 


Opium :   Li's  riverside  hut  at  Taku 


The  room  is  bare,  the  paper  windows  shiver, 

Beneath  the  ill-hung  door,  the  sleet  blows  free, 

Yet  here.  Delight  flows  forth,  a  gentle  river, 
To  saturate  my  soul  with  ecstasy  ! 

I  lie  upon  the  heated  Kang^  quiescent. 

Lulled  by  the  warmth  of  lighted  straw  below, 

While  Li,  the  golden-tinted  adolescent. 

Blue-clad  and  silent,  passes  to  and  fro. 

Li,  with  his  well-cut  lips  and  supple  fingers. 

His  crudely  lidded  eyes,  that  seem  to  gaze 

Back  through  ten  thousand  years  of  thought,  where  lingers 
Some  misty  splendour  of  the  old,  old  days. 

Free  from  the  plait,  his  loosened  sable  tresses 
In  silken  waves,  below  the  knee,  descend. 

Bringing  the  opium  pipe,  he  deftly  presses 
The  viscous  drug  upon  the  needle's  end. 

Lights  it,  inserts  it  in  the  pipe  beside  me. 

Then  through  my  lips  the  magic  vapour  streamy 

And  Life  and  Love,  that  seldom  satisfied  me. 
Meet  me  with  lovely  faces  in  my  dreams. 

32 


Life  at  his  brightest,  flushed  and  crowned  with  flowers, 
Brings  gifts  no  mortal,  waking,  e'er  possessed, 

Exquisite  Chances,  and  Enchanted  Hours, 

While  Love, — Love  brings  me  you,  to  share  my  rest ! 


SS 


In  the  Water  Palace 


The  gracious  rain  caressed  the  fields 

To  bountiful  increase, 
Profusion  reigned  throughout  the  land, 

And,  on  the  borders,  peace. 

Yet,  in  the  streets,  the  people  cried 

"  It  is  a  shameful  thing. 
Now  all  the  Gods  are  more  than  kind, 

This  madness  of  the  King." 

A  gipsy-girl  his  heart  ensnares. 
And  all  his  days  and  nights 

Are  spent,  unmindful  of  the  State, 
In  profitless  delights. 

The  Maharani  sits  alone, 

Her  lashes  wet  with  tears. 

While  all  the  pearls  and  gems  ot  state 
Her  gipsy  rival  wears. 

In  vain  they  bring  her  silken  robes. 
In  vain  her  maidens  sing. 

She  will  but  sieh,  "  When  shall  I  see 
The  beauty  of  the  king  ?  " 

34 


The  gipsy's  youth  is  all  but  o'er, 
Her  time  for  children  past, 

The  people  say,  "  Without  a  son 
How  shall  the  kingdom  last  ?  '* 

And  louder  yet  the  murmurs  grow 

Of  folly  and  disgrace, 
And  faster  still  the  Rani's  tears 

Flow  down  her  youthful  face. 

One  night,  a  faithful  handmaiden 
Unto  her  chamber  came  ; 

** Presence,"  she  said,  "'tis  thou  alone 
Canst  save  the  king  from  shame. 


"  The  gipsy  girl  we  drugged  to-night 
And  stole  her  silks  away. 

Rise  thou,  and  play  the  wanton's  part 
Until  the  dawn  of  day. 


"  We  gave  a  philtre  to  the  king 

To  set  his  brain  afire. 
And  thou  shalt  take  the  gipsy's  place 

To  solace  his  desire. 


"  Thus  lying  joyous  on  thy  heart. 

If  all  propitious  be. 
He,  thinking  of  the  gipsy's  charms, 

Shall  bring  a  son  to  thee. 


'35 


"  If  this,  Oh,  Rani,  thou  canst  do 
Thy  virtue  will  be  great  ; 

Thou  from  himself  wilt  save  the  king, 
And  from  the  king  the  state. 


"  But  ah,  remember,  he  must  go 
Before  the  skies  grow  light, 

Ere  yet  the  philtre  leave  his  brain 
Too  clear  in  sense  and  sight. 

"  For  should  he  dream  that  thou  art  thou, 

And  realise  the  truth 
Too  suddenly,  he  would  not  spare 

Thy  beauty  or  thy  youth. 


"  In  some  auspicious,  later  hour, 

If  our  desire  be  gained, 
The  tender  sequence  of  the  fraud 

To  him  can  be  explained." 

The  Maharani  rose  and  smiled, 
She  pushed  her  hair  away, 

"  Ah,  if  he  stay  with  me  to-night, 
At  daybreak  let  him  slay  1  " 

Then  round  her  slender  neck  she  twined 
The  pearls  as  white  as  milk  ; 

Her  breast  was  all  too  young  to  fill 
The  crimson  bodice  silk. 

36 


» 


She  blushed  to  wear  the  gipsy's  robes, 
And  yet  they  seemed  to  bring 

A  subtle  sweetness  to  her  soul, 

Since  well  they  knew  the  king. 

And  "Ah,"  she  said,  "  I  love  him  so, 

I  tremble  with  delight  ; 
Would  that  I  knew  the  gipsy's  spell 

To  charm  him  through  the  night ! 

Then  to  her  rival's  bower  she  went, 
(Who  far,  unconscious,  lay,) 

And  waited  in  a  flush  of  joy 

Till  he  should  pass  that  way. 

He  came  in  all  his  jewelled  state, 

His  dagger  by  his  side. 
The  philtre  filled  him  with  desire 

Fierce  to  be  satisfied. 


His  youth  and  beauty  changed  her  love 

To  passion  at  Its  best, 
And  round  his  neck  she  wound  her  arms 

And  took  him  to  her  breast. 

She  was  so  sweet,  she  loved  so  well. 
Before  the  night  was  past, 

He  murmured,  "Ah,  my  gipsy  queen, 
Thou  lovest  me  at  last !  " 


The  watchful  woman  by  the  door 

Waited  in  hope  and  fear, 
Praying  the  Gods  that  all  go  well 

For  her  she  held  so  dear. 

And  when  the  night  had  somewhat  waned, 
And  sleep  had  closed  his  eyes, 

"  Presence,"  she  said,  "  Unclasp  thine  arms 
And  bid  thy  lover  rise." 

The  little  Rani  held  him  close 

And  smiling  answered  low, 
"  My  lover  is  so  sweet  to  me 

I  cannot  let  him  go." 

And  once  again  she  came  to  warn  ; 

The  Rani  begged  reprieve, 
"  Love  is  so  sweet  and  new  to  me 

How  can  1  let  him  leave  ? " 


A  third  time  came  the  handmaiden, 
Sleep  weighted  both  their  eyes, 

The  Rani  sighed,  "  I  love  him  so, 
I  cannot  bid  him  rise  !  " 


Thus  all  three  slept  until  the  dawn 
Rose  tremulous  and  clear. 

And  soon  the  sunlight  through  the  room 
Pierced  like  a  golden  spear. 

38 


It  struck  the  king  across  the  eyes, 
He  rose  alert  and  keen, 

He  saw  the  pearls  he  knew  so  well, 
But  not  his  gipsy  queen. 

The  Rani  waking,  held  him  still, 
He  tore  her  arms  apart. 

"  This  for  thy  treachery,"  he  cried, 
And  stabbed  her  to  the  heart. 


39 


The  Crucifix 


Oh,  slender  Christ,  upon  the  Cross  before  me, 

Whose  wistful  eyes  are  sad  and  shaped  for  tears, 

What  have  we  done,  of  all  that  you  commanded  ? 
Little  enough  !  these  last  two  thousand  years. 

Should  any  soul  be  touched  with  grace  or  glory, 
Surely  such  gifts  are  their  possessor's  loss  : 

Hemlock  to  Socrates,  the  stake  for  Bruno, 
And,  to  your  young  Divinity,  the  Cross. 

That  Cross,  on  which  you  hung,  serene  and  dying. 
Until  the  last,  to  your  own  tenets  true, 

Praying  amid  your  long  drawn  torments,  "  Father 
Forgive  them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do. 


»» 


Forgive^  forgive  us,  for  our  senseless  folly. 
After  these  weary  centuries,  who  can  ? 

We,  who  relinquished  priceless  consolation, 

That  else  those  tender  lips  had  left  for  Man. 

Ours  was  the  cruelty,  the  wasteful  madness, 
And  ours,  alas,  th'  irrevocable  loss. 

You  touched  our  anguished  world  with  gentle  solace, 
And  in  return,  we  gave  you  to  the  Cross  ! 

40 


Wind  o'  the  Waste:   On  the  Wall  of  Pekin 


The  icy  wind  sweeps  over  the  desolate  snows, 
Over  the  Desert  of  Gobi,  towards  the  sea. 

I  envy  this  headless  corpse,  for  it  sleeps  and  knows 
No  more  of  our  human  life  and  its  agony. 

He  was  a  robber  when  living,  and  scaled  the  wall 

To  escape  his  foes,  (Ah,  could  one  escape  from  love) 

They  would  have  flayed  him  alive  had  he  chanced  to  tall 
Into  their  hands,  so  he  strangled  himself  above. 

And  after  awhile  the  body  rotted  and  fell. 

The  head  still  hangs  on  the  nail  by  the  broken  stair. 
Wherever  his  soul  is  now,  it  has  left  the  Hell 

That  passion  makes  for  us  here  of  hate  and  despair. 

Alas,  this  land  of  cruel  and  desolate  things  1 

How  can  the  Roses  of  Happiness  come  to  bloom. 

Or  that  butterfly.  Love,  flutter  his  silken  wings. 

While  the  bitter  wind  of  the  waste  lashes  the  gloom  ? 


41 


Happiness 


"  Nothing  succeeds  as  doth  succeed  Success  !  " 
None  who  have  known  Success  assent  to  this. 

Have  I  not  kissed  beloved,  consenting  lips, 
And  through  my  kisses  cursed  their  sweet  consent  ? 
Turning  my  face  towards  the  desert  stars 
To  pray  the  chillness  of  the  midnight  breeze 
Might  cool  the  passion  that  demanded  mine. 

And  all  the  Gold,  wrenched  from  the  stubborn  rock, 
The  utmost  Glory,  gathered  on  the  Field, 
When  have  they  proved  a  lure  to  Happiness  ? 

Happiness  is  so  reticent  and  shy, 
So  transient,  so  illusive,  and  so  young. 
Most  men  but  glimpse  her  through  the  morning  flowers, 
i  Or  the  faint  mirage  of  a  passing  dream. 

She  meets  her  lovers  on  the  summer  seas, 
Among  the  shadows  of  the  quiet  hills, 
Grants  them,  perchance,  a  moment's  ecstasy. 
Then,  ere  they  realise  her,  she  is  gone. 
42 


Dreamers  of  Dreams  arrest  her  wayward  steps, 
And  to  the  Young  her  kindest  kiss  is  given. 
But  none  have  claimed  the  maiden  for  a  bride, 
Set  her  obedient  by  the  daily  hearth, 
Or  raised  a  child  of  theirs  from  happiness. 

Happiness  to  Success  is  as  a  rose, 
Perfumed  and  dewy,  in  a  nest  of  leaves. 
Is  to  a  carven  gem  of  emerald 
Circling  a  ruby  on  a  golden  stem. 

Take  thou  the  jewel,  Friend,  and  let  me  lose 
"What  soul  1  have,  among  the  Lotus  flowers  ! 


43 


The  Orange  Garden 

(Translation  from  the  Moorish  by  Walter  Harris  of  Tangier) 

I 

I  CANNOT  find  this  Orange  Garden  fair  : 

The  dim  dishevelled  grass  is  wet  and  chill. 

Desolate,  croaking  frogs  distress  the  air, 

But  birds,  if  ever  birds  come  here,  are  still. 

Even  the  oranges  have  lost  their  light 

And  droop  forlorn  beneath  the  sombre  green. 

A  water-wheel  creaks  somewhere  out  of  sight, 
Grey  mist  and  shadow  veil  the  lonely  scene. 

And  when  I  think  I  hear  your  coming  leet 
Rustle  across  the  grass  and  violet  leaves, 

'Tis  but  the  gardener,  who  fears  to  meet. 

Am  ng  the  gloom  some  fruit-attracted  thieves. 

II 

Fair,  ah,  fair,  is  the  sunny  Orange  Garden, 
Secret  and  shady,  scented  and  green. 

Gold,  red  gold,  are  the  oranges  in  clusters. 

Fragrant  and  bright  in  their  ripened  sheen. 

44 


Even  the  croaking  of  the  frogs  is  music, 
Even  the  creak  of  the  wheel  is  song, 

Straight  to  my  naked  heart  the  wild  birds'  warble 
Strikes  in  cadence,  tremulously  strong. 

Now  the  old  gardener  passes  discreetly, 
Never  upraising  his  guarded  eyes. 

For  here  in  the  violets,  at  rest,  beside  me. 

Sweet  and  consenting,  my  Loved  One  lies  ! 


45 


Droit  du  Seigneur 


The  Aspens  shiver  by  the  osier  bed, 

The  waters  ripple  in  September's  sun 

Among  the  rushes,  where  I  sit  and  dream 

My  basket  empty  and  my  work  undone. 

I  watch  the  spirals  of  blue  smoke  arise    . 

Above  the  green  of  oak  and  chestnut  tree 
Only  one  week  of  wistful  weariness 

Before  as  custom  bids,  I  go  to  thee. 

But,  wilt  thou  take  thy  right  ?     My  brother's  wife 
Went  to  the  castle  on  her  wedding-day, 

And  when  thou  saw'st  her  shivering  dissent 

Didst  thou  not  say  in  kindness,  "  Go  thy  way, 

"  Untouched  by  me,  even  as  thou  hast  come, 

Save  in  the  way  of  gifts  ;  take  this  and  this." 

And  she,  poor  little  fool,  rejoined  her  mate, 
Unharmed,  unhonoured^  even  by  a  kiss. 

Last  week  I  saw  her  at  her  cottage  door 

Nursing  her  clumsy  child  ;  no  wistful  sigh 

For  what  her  peasant  arms  might  yet  have  held, 
A  child  of  thine, — broke  her  serenity. 

46 


Ah,  if  I  knew  how  thou  wilt  deal  with  me. 

Who  knows  ?  who  knows  ?     They  tell  me  I  am  fair, 
And  any  beauty  that  I  may  possess 

Have  I  not  kept  it  for  thy  sake  with  care  ? 

To  guard  a  pallor  that  might  blush  for  thee, 

Shading  the  sunrays  trom  this  face  of  mine, 

Smoothing  my  hands  with  milk  from  elder-flowers 
Lest  the  rough  skin  should  jar  the  silk  of  thine^ 

Ah,  how  I  loved  thee,  even  as  a  child 

Watching  thee  ride  across  the  village  square, 

The  curls  blown  backwards  from  thy  vivid  face 
Thy  pennons  lifted  on  the  summer  air. 

How  I  have  envied  brides  who  passed  thy  gates. 
And  when  I  heard  the  village  gossips  say 

Thou  wert  not  as  thy  fathers  ;  oft  refused 
To  claim  thy  privilege,  I  turned  away 

So  glad  and  yet  so  sad, — It  well  may  be 

They  will  not  notice  me,  those  eyes  of  thine  ; 

Yet  surely  love  will  find  some  soft  appeal 

To  draw  their  gaze  to  me,  thy  lips  to  mine. 

My  cousin  loves  me  ;  in  his  kindly  eyes 

Lies  the  clear  promise  of  a  calm  content. 

''j  wedding  him,  ensure  his  happiness 

As  thou  ensurest  mine,  shouldst  thou  consent. 


47 


Ah,  if  thou  shouldst  be  kind  and  set  thy  seal 
On  me  and  mine  for  ever.     Women  know 

The  secret  ways  of  love  and  all  its  lore 

If, — Ah,  dear  God  in  Heaven,  if  this  were  so  I 

My  firstborn  should  be  thine,  then  all  my  life 
Will,  and  must,  keep  the  memory  of  thee. 

Even  as  thou  art  printed  on  my  heart, 

So  on  my  being  must  thy  impress  be. 

No  second  lover  and  no  second  child 

Efface  the  imprint  of  the  first  who  came, 

And  on  the  golden  sands  of  youth  inscribed 
Lightly,  but  so  indelibly,  his  name. 

Many  a  custom,  many  an  old  abuse 

Thy  people  cherish  still,  unknown  to  thee  ; 

My  cousin  whispers  me  among  the  reeds, 

"  What  has  the  priest  to  do  with  thee  and  me  ? 

"Let  us  forestall  our  marriage,  thus  thy  child 
Will  be  thy  husband's,  not  a  lawless  thing 

Born  of  injustice."     Ah,  how  blind  men  are, 

How  strange  their  words  of  careless  kindness  ring. 

It  is  the  sweetest  justice  or  our  lives 

That  once,  ere  settling  to  our  lifelong  task 

Of  servino;  boors  and  raising  sons  to  them 
One  golden  moment,  too  divine  to  ask 

48 


In  our  most  daring  prayers,  is  flung  to  us 

By  our  time  honoured  custom's  strange  decree. 

One  perfect  hour  of  radiant  romance 

Is  lent  to  us  ;  will  it  be  lent  to  me  ? 

Rarely  men  understand  our  way  of  love  ; 

How  that  to  women  in  their  wedding  hours 
Lover  and  priest  and  king  are  blent  in  one, 

Hence  the  awed  worship  of  these  hearts  of  ours. 

At  times  love  for  a  little  lifts  the  veil 

And  men  and  women  see  each  other's  heart, 

But  swiftly  passion  comes,  obscuring  all, 

And  thus  the  nearing  souls  are  swept  apart. 

To  us  love  is  a  sacred  rite  ;  to  men 

Custom,  perhaps  affection,  or  desire. 

Before  we  hold  our  lovers  in  our  arms 

They  are  too  fiercely  amorous  to  inquire. 

And  after  too  indifferent  ;  thus  our  souls 
Remain  an  unread  chapter  to  the  end, 

And  those  whose  very  life  is  blent  with  ours 
Cannot  be  called  with  justice  even  friend. 

Ah  me,  I  dream  and  dream  :  my  basket  lies 
Unfilled  beside  mc,  while  the  aspens  part 

Their  trembling  leaves,  and  show  the  castle  walls 
That  rest  my  eyes  and  draw  my  anxious  heart, 

D  49 


Because  they  hold  its  treasure.     Ah,  Seigneur, 

So  loved,  so  longed  for,  passing  strange  it  seems 

That  I  shall  speak  to  thee,  to  whom  I  speak 

Daily  in  thought,  and  nightly  through  my  dreams. 

Thou  may'st  misunderstand.     Excess  of  love 
Takes  the  pale  lips  of  coldness  or  of  art. 

And  yet  my  eyes  must  surely  find  some  way 

To  show  the  white  heat  burning  at  my  heart ! 

Seigneur,  not  so  dissimilar  am  I 

From  thee  and  thine.    Thou  know'st  thy  father's  ways. 
Ay,  and  his  father's  ;  much  the  castle  blood 

Mixed  with  the  village  stream  in  former  days. 

Signs  of  more  brilliant  lineage  than  my  own 

Many  have  marked  in  me.     Take  heed  of  this  ; 

Find  me  not  too  unworthy  of  thine  arms  ; 

These  lips  are  thine  knowing  no  other  kiss. 


Think  ;  if  thou  givest  me  an  hour's  delight 
It  will  be  all  my  life  will  ever  know. 

Seigneur,  have  pity  on  this  love  of  mine 
And  lend  thyself  to  me  before  I  go 


Back  to  my  narrow  life.     The  whitest  star 

May  let  its  pure  and  trembling  beauty  rest 

Tn  the  dim  silver  of  the  smallest  pool  ; 

Wherefore  not  thou  a  moment  on  my  breast  ? 

SO 


I  am  thine  own  by  immemorial  right, 

Stoop  thou  and  take  that  privilege  of  thine  ; 

An  hour's  dalliance  in  thy  life,  Seigneur, 
And  an  eternal  memory  in  mine  I 


Korean  Song 


"Ah,  paddle  not  thou  afar  from  shore 

Where  the  Great  Stream  meets  the  sea, 
The  River  Pirates  will  snatch  thy  gold 
And  beat  out  thy  life  from  thee." 

"  But  thine  eyes,  my  Beloved,  thine  eyes, 
Have  they  no  peril  for  me  ?  " 


(C 


(C 


Ah,  go  not  down  to  the  dens  by  night 

Where  they  sell  thee  poppied  dreams. 
Like  evil  eyes,  through  the  spiral  smoke, 
The  lighted  opium  gleams." 

"  What  of  thine  eyes,  oh,  my  Beloved, 
Have  they  no  alluring  beams  ?  " 

Ah,  stray  not  where  last  year's  Lotus  stalks 

Are  gripped  in  the  frozen  mere, 
The  treacherous  ice  is  over  thin." 
"  It  is  not  the  ice  I  fear. 

But  thine  eyes,  my  Beloved,  thine  eyes, 
So  dangerous  and  so  dear  !  " 


Stars  of  the  Desert 


(Mahomed  Akram's  Night  Watch) 

The  night  is  calm,  and  all  the  stars  are  burning, 
Around  our  camp  the  sands  stretch  far  away, 

No  sound,  except  the  lonely  jackals  howling. 
Until  the  horses,  startled,  wake  and  neigh. 


Only  the  walls  of  one  thin  tent  of  canvas, 

Only  a  yard  of  yellow  desert  sand. 
Between  us  two,  and  yet  I  know  you  distant. 

As  though  you  lived  in  some  far  Northern  land. 


Here,  at  the  doorway  of  my  tent,  I  linger 

To  watch  in  yours  the  shadow  and  the  light. 

The  hungry  soul  within  me  burning,  burning. 

As  the  stars  burn  throughout  the  Eastern  night. 


I  know  well  how  you  sleep,  your  head  thrown  backwards, 
Your  loose  hair  ruffled  up  and  disarrayed. 

Your  fervent  eyes  still  sombre  in  their  slumber 
From  the  dark  circle  of  the  lashes'  shade. 

53 


I  listen  to  your  even  cadenced  breathing, 

From  the  soft  curve  of  parted  lips  set  free  ; 

Only  a  slender  wall  of  wind-stirred  canvas 
Between  your  loveliness  asleep  and  me. 

Sleep  on,  I  sit  and  watch  your  tent  in  silence. 
White  as  a  sail  upon  this  sandy  sea, 

And  know  the  Desert's  self  is  not  more  boundless 
Than  is  the  distance  'twixt  yourself  and  me. 

Know  that  I  am  some  low  red  planet  burning. 

You  in  the  Zenith,  a  serene  white  star, 
And  I  to  you,  less  than  the  lonely  jackals 

That  howl  among  the  sandy  wastes  afar. 

Sleep  on,  the  Desert  sleeps  around  you,  quiet. 
Watched  by  the  restless,  golden  stars  above, 

Ay,  let  us  sleep  ;  you  to  your  careless  waking, 
1,  with  my  dreams  of  unrequited  love. 


54 


The  Fisherman's  Bride 


The  great  grey  waves,  with  an  angry  moan, 

Rush  in  on  the  patient  sand. 
The  spray  from  their  crests  is  backwards  blown 

By  the  strong  wind  from  the  land. 

As  curls  are  blown  from  a  maiden's  face 

And  flutter  behind  her  free. 
The  spindrift  blows  from  the  waves  that  race 

From  stress  of  the  outer  sea. 

The  restless  wind  has  ever  a  sigh 

And  the  waves  are  salt  as  tears, 
Maybe  because  of  the  dead  who  lie 

Where  never  the  sunlight  peers. 

One  curl  of  his  hair  is  more  to  me 

Than  a  thousand  waves  of  thine, 
Yet  is  his  life  in  thy  charge,  oh,  sea. 

And  also  and  therefore  mine. 

Great  sins  are  written  against  thy  name 

In  records  of  olden  times. 
Art  thou  not  filled  with  sorrow  and  shame 

Remembering  ancient  crimes  ? 

S9 


Then  spare,  oh,  spare  this  lover  of  mine, 
Thou  queen  of  a  million  ships, 

Content  thee  with  that  coral  of  thine 
And  leave  me  my  lover's  lips  1 


56 


The  End 


In  the  past  1  have  craved  for  many  a  thing 

And  ever  you  answered  "  No," 
Now  I  would  ask  you  for  one  thing  more  ; 

For  God's  sake  let  me  go  ! 

Truly  the  Greeks  were  wise  who  smiled. 

Saying,  in  days  gone  by, 
Love  has  only  the  heart  of  a  child 

And  the  wings  of  a  butterfly  I 

(Ah,  for  the  cabined  sampans,  floating  free, 
Ah,  for  the  tropic  moonlit  nights,  that  fling 
Unnecessary  silver  on  a  sea 
Itself  with  phosphorescent  light  aglow. 
Ah,  for  the  waving  palms  along  the  shore.) 

Craft,  long  laid  up  in  a  dockyard  dry, 

Wearily  yearn  to  feel 
The  cool  caresses  of  livingr  water 

Pressing  against  the  keel. 

A  ship  remembers  the  open  sky 

Anchored  in  roadstead  ease 
And  all  that  the  wind  and  waves  have  taught  her 

In  far-off  perilous  seas. 

S7 


Amidst  the  strife  of  clamorous  speeches 

Ajid  eager  gold-snatching  hands, 
The  soul  grows  faint  for  the  yellow  beaches, 
The  loneliness  of  the  wind-swept  reaches, 

And  the  calm  of  Eastern  lands. 
My  foot  is  athrill  for  the  steel  of  the  stirrup, 

My  palms  are  astir  for  the  grip  of  an  oar 
The  whole  of  my  body  is  sick  for  the  sea 

And  the  peace  of  a  desolate  shore. 

Perhaps  you  gave  me  what  you  call  love, 

(I  had  called  it  another  name) 
But  anyway,  1  am  tired  of  playing 
Take  all  the  stakes  of  the  sorry  game. 
I  wonder  you  thought  me  worth  betraying. 
But  what  is  there  now  that  is  worth  the  saying 

Since  the  end  must  be  the  same  ? 

I  shall  piece  together  my  broken  youth, 

If  aught  of  youth  remain. 
And  when  at  last  the  wreck  of  me  reaches. 
Beyond  the  lilt  of  persuasive  speeches, 

(I  question  if  ever  you  spoke  the  truth) 
The  palm-tree  shade  of  the  coral  beeches 
The  cool  retreat  of  the  Cinnamon  grove, 

Peace  will  find  me  again. 

For  Youth,  who  sleeps  so  soundly  and  so  well. 
On  any  couch  and  under  any  stars. 

Shall  join  with  Rest  and  weave  a  magic  spell 
To  soothe  the  memory  of  my  prison  bars. 

58 


Serenity  shall  raise  pavilions  o"'ct  me, 

Freedom  and  dreams  console  me  with  a  smile, 
Hope,  the  Eternal  Mirage,  dance  before  me, 

And  Love, — no  more  of  love  for  me  awhile  ! 

I  seek,  to  celebrate  my  glad  release. 

The  Tents  of  Silence  and  the  Camp  of  Peace. 

That  little  Island  !  surf-circled,  it  waits 

On  the  sapphirine  waves  for  me. 
To  the  right  of  the  fairway  through  the  Straits 

As  you  sail  to  the  China  Sea. 

A  pile  built  hut  and  a  captive  boat. 

At  the  foot  of  the  wavewashed  stair  afloat, 

Blue  water  abreak  upon  the  beach. 

The  soft,  vague  sound  of  Malayan  speech, 

Ah,  the  sun-gilt  rest  of  that  island  shore. 

Mine  the  folly  to  strive  for  more  1 

I  shall  go  the  way  of  the  open  sea. 

To  the  lands  I  knew  before  you  came, 

And  the  cool  clean  breezes  shall  blow  from  me 
The  memory  of  your  name. 

The  transient  sorrow  you  cause  me  now 
Will  fade  away  in  the  distance  dim, 

But  Love  is  a  God,  and  I  wonder  how 
You  will  make  your  peace  with  him  I 


» 


The  Consolation  of  Dreams 


Farewell,  O  Sapphire  Eyes,  serene  and  clear. 
Tender  and  careless,  not  the  stars  above 

Could  take  less  heed  of  one  who  held  them  dear 

Than  you  Beloved,  who  could  not,  would  not,  love. 

Ah,  Sapphire  Eyes,  who  could  not,  would  not,  care 
Or  shed  on  me  their  soft  indifferent  beams, 

The  long  white  day  may  keep  you  far  as  fair. 
Yet  you  come  very  near  to  me  in  dreams. 

Dreams  :  when  I  force  you  with  soft  violence 
To  turn  on  me  their  tender  azure  shine. 

And  tune  your  voice  to  this  sweet  eloquence 
"  I  am  your  lover,  lend  your  lips  to  mine." 


(C 


'*  Refuse  me  not."     Ah,  when  would  I  refuse  ? 

"  Turn  here  your  face."     When  would  I  turn  away  .? 
I,  whose  one  wish  is  that  you  should  intuse 

Your  life  in  mine  in  love's  completest  way. 

I,  who  had  held  that  life  had  given  me  all 
Had  it,  oh,  if  it  had  but  given  me  you  1 

Had  Fate  but  ordered  your  soft  light  to  fall 
Across  my  solitudes,  O  eyes  of  blue. 

60 


In  the  Far  East  the  old  Religions  say 

Man  rises  nearest  to  the  Gods  above. 
For  a  brief  space  becoming  even  as  they, 

In  the  last  ecstasy  of  human  love. 

Might  I  not  also  rise  and  reach  your  soul 

If  once  its  passionate  life  had  passed  to  mc 

In  the  surrender  of  your  self  control, 

Th'  unguarded  moments  of  your  ecstasy  ? 

For  though  you  hold  that  Love  is  brief  and  mortal, 

What  other  way  can  I  attain  to  you  ? 
I  know,  O  Azure  Eyes,  no  other  portal 

To  reach  the  mind  beyond  your  mystic  blue. 

And  yet — what  use  these  dear,  delusive  dreams  ? 

The  night  wears  through,  the  stars  grow  Dale  above. 
Farewell,  O  Sapphires,  set  in  tears,  there  seems 

No  hope,  no  rest,  you  would  not,  could  not,  love. 


6i 


Men  Should  be  Judged 


Men  should  be  judged,  not  by  their  tint  of  skhi, 

The  Gods  they  serve,  the  Vintage  that  they  drink, 

Nor  by  the  way  they  fight,  or  love,  or  sin. 
But  by  the  quality  of  thought  they  think. 


62 


The  Island  of  Desolation  :   Song  of  Mohamed 
Akram 

Here  on  the  Island  of  my  Desolation 

I  look  across  the  wastes  of  azure  sea ; 
None  of  the  ships  that  pass  in  exaltation 

Have  any  cargo  or  commands  for  me. 


Not  in  the  red  of  any  joyous  morning, 
Not  in  the  gold  of  any  sunset  light, 

Will  they  run  up  the  flag  to  give  me  warning 

That  the  so  longed-for  vessel  looms  in  sight. 


Sometimes  I  light  the  beacon  fires  of  passion 

To  lure  frail  pleasure  craft  towards  the  shore, 

Join  the  night  revels  in  half-hearted  fashion 
Only  to  wake  more  lonely  than  before. 


Now  and  again  some  friendly  soul  has  landed. 
Taken  his  careless  welcome  ;  sailed  away, 

And  in  the  time  of  tempest,  ships  have  stranded, 
Spilling  rich  merchandise  about  the  bay. 

63 


White  bones  among  the  mangroves  glisten  dimly, 
Drift  with  the  water,  in  the  sunshine  bleach, 

While  the  gaunt  ribs  of  wreckage  rising  grimly 

Guard  the  forlornness  of  the  wind-swept  beach. 

Inland,  among  the  fern  and  seeding  grasses 

Where  the  Acacia,  silken-tasselled,  waves. 

The  summer  wind  sighs  softly  as  it  passes 
Over  the  green  of  half  forgotten  graves. 

Little  I  heed  ;  my  eyes  gaze  ever  seaward, 
Straining  to  glimpse  the  ship  I  never  see. 

My  constant  soul,  set  like  a  compass,  theeward. 
Even  as  thine  was  always  turned  from  me. 

Ah,  how  I  loved  thee  1  Hoping  to  forget  thee. 
Where  are  the  things  I  did  not  vainly  try  ? 

But  every  cell  and  fibre  still  regret  thee, 

Even  in  death  remembrance  will  not  die. 

If  thou  shouldst  seek  me  (though  thou  comest  never. 

My  hopes,  like  Lighthouse  rays,  stream  forth  to  thee) 

Thou  wouldst  still  find  me  faithful,  watching  ever. 
Or  buried  with  my  face  towards  the  sea. 


64 


A  Sea  Pink 


She  came,  a  maiden  from  the  North, 
To  dwell  among  a  Southern  race. 

And  lovely  Northern  eyes  looked  forth 
In  azure  from  her  oval  face. 

Her  hair  was  like  the  pale  faint  gold 

September's  sun  sheds  o'er  the  land. 

And  soft  to  touch  and  slim  to  hold 
The  white  perfection  of  her  hand. 

They  loved  her  on  that  Southern  shore  : 
Tall  fisher  men  and  dark-haired  boys 

Were  fain  to  lino^er  round  her  door 

With  shells  and  kindred  ocean  toys. 

Yet  was  their  love  restrained  by  fear. 
So  still  she  was,  so  calm  and  pale. 

She  seemed  a  star,  remotely  dear. 

No  human  love  might  dare  assail. 

Whilst  in  her  chamber,  small  and  bright 
With  sea  pinks  and  blue  lavender, 

She  wondered  through  the  summer  night 
Why  love  had  never  come  to  her. 


65 


Her  fancy  wandered  to  the  shore 

Sunburnt  beneath  the  noonday  skies, 

Again  the  fisher  lads  she  saw, 

Their  willing  arms  and  eager  eyes. 

Saw  their  young  smiles,  whose  tender  gleams 
Held  all  the  love  she  had  not  known, 

And,  blushing  in  her  morning  dreams, 
Felt  their  red  lips  against  her  own. 

But  all  day  long  her  self-control 

Concealed  her  loneliness  too  well. 

Alas  !  these  barriers  of  the  soul, 
So  slight,  yet  so  invincible  ! 

Time  passed  :  her  azure  eyes  grew  sad. 

Dull  sorrow  dimmed  their  dancing  blue. 

While  many  a  pensive  fisher  lad 

Envied  the  seagulls  as  they  flew. 

Envied  them  their  sweet  liberty. 
Free  of  the  ocean,  free  to  love. 

On  light  untrammelled  wings,  while  he 
As  well  mioht  woo  the  stars  above 


As  the  young  maiden  of  his  choice. 

Her  gentle  beauty  bloomed  in  vain, 
She  knew  no  art,  he  found  no  voice 

To  bridge  the  gulf  between  them  twain. 
66 


How  should  a  fisher  lad  aspire 

To  win  a  thing  as  fair  as  this  ? 

So  after  days  of  dumb  desire 

Some  duskier  maiden  claimed  his  kiss. 

And  day  by  day  the  ripples  broke 
Around  the  fishers  in  the  bay. 

Night  after  night  alone  she  woke 

Till  all  her  youth  had  passed  away. 

The  swift  sweet  years  when  she  was  young, 
Her  golden  years,  slipped  lightly  past, 

And  thus  the  song  remained  unsung, 
The  rose  ungathered  till  the  last. 


67 


The  Date-garden 


I  DREAMT  last  night  you  were  mine  indeed, 
And  I  prayed  the  dream  to  stay, 

But  this  world  of  ours  with  reckless  haste 
Rushed  on  to  another  day. 

I  thought  we  slept  on  the  Desert  sands, 
Where  the  old  date-gardens  lie. 

And  a  golden  mist  of  quivering  stars 
Was  scattered  across  the  sky. 

There,  in  the  limitless  silences, 
Where  only  the  jackals  live. 

You  were  kind  to  me  as  you  are  not  kind, 
And  gave  what  you  will  not  give. 

And  when  the  hands  were  fallen  apart. 
And  the  longing  lips  grown  loth, 

A  little  wind  from  under  the  stars 

Came  down  and  caressed  us  both. 

Then,  leaning  against  your  heart,  1  said 

Ah,  it  were  a  lovely  thing 

If  from  this  blossoming  time  of  ours 

Some  flower  of  life  should  spring. 
68 


And  though  mankind,  with  its  narrow  sight, 
Might  christen  it  child  of  shame, 

The  people's  heart,  which  is  always  true. 
Would  give  it  a  sweeter  name. 

"Love-child  "  :   name  that  is  tender  with  love  ; 

With  joyous  passion  and  youth. 
Man's  own  sad  laws  have  blinded  his  eyes. 

But  some  of  us  see  the  truth  ! 


If  mine  own  hand  had  written  my  fate, 
1  know  I  had  rather  been 

Fruit  of  a  wild  and  exquisite  love 
Than  the  child  of  dull  routine. 


Should  I  not  give  to  children  of  yours 

Created  in  sheer  delight, 
The  cool  clear  soul  of  this  star-lit  waste. 

The  peace  of  the  Desert  night  ? 

And  all  our  fervour  and  youth  and  force, 
Would  they  not  feel  the  same  .'' 

Surely  the  torch  of  life  should  be  lit 
At  the  whitest  heat  of  the  flume  1 


Lean  back,  lean  back,  till  your  loosened  hair 
Lies  soft  on  the  Desert  sands, 

That  all  yourself  may  abandoned  be 
To  my  reverent  lips  and  hands. 


When  first  I  saw  you,  My  Well-Beloved, 

In  my  secret  heart  I  said, 
Ah,  that  the  lips  might  follow  the  eyes 

And  feast  where  these  have  fed  1 

And  now  that  thine  own  have  set  mine  free 
(Be  still,  O,  my  heart,  be  still) 

I  only  fear  that  my  life  may  wane 
Before  they  have  had  their  will. 

Thus  I  spoke  in  the  visions  of  night, 

As  1  may  not  speak  by  day, 
But  the  cruel  hours  with  reckless  speed 

Have  carried  my  dream  away. 

The  night  Is  over,  the  stars  have  paled. 
The  magic  of  sleep  has  flown. 

The  white-eyed  Day,  slipping  into  the  world, 
Found  me,  as  ever,  alone. 


70 


Trees  of  Wharnclifle  House 


Oh,  green  and  leafy  Wharncliffc  trees 

That  tremble  to  and  fro, 
You  rustle  in  the  languid  breeze 

And  catch  the  evening  glow. 
Across  the  dusty  gloomy  street, 

1  note  your  tender  sheen. 
But  unto  me  it  is  not  sweet, 

Who  see  what  I  have  seen. 


The  slender  Coco  palms  I  crave 

Beside  a  purple  sea. 
Where  every  phosphorescent  wave 

Leaps  up  in  ecstasy, 
Towards  the  tangled  stars  above 

That  sparkle  in  the  blue. 
These  are  the  things  1  know  and  love. 

How  can  I  care  for  you  .'' 


I  always  feel  a  sense  of  loss 

If,  at  the  close  of  day, 
1  cannot  see  the  Southern  Cross 

Break  through  the  gathered  grey, 

71 


Nor  watch  the  liquid  moonlight  gleam 
Among  the  temples  white, 

And  realise  that  lovely  dream, 
We  call  an  Eastern  night. 


'to' 


Though  I,  Impatient  of  the  heat, 

Forth  from  the  window  lean 
To  cool  my  sight  across  the  street 

Amidst  your  shaded  green. 
Your  leaves,  refreshed  by  summer  showers. 

Are  naught  to  me,  who  feast 
My  fancy  on  those  other  flowers 

That  burn  about  the  East. 

For  I  have  seen  the  Lotus  bloom 

On  lakes  like  inland  seas. 
And  white  Magnolias,  through  the  gloom, 

Moonlike  among  the  trees. 
Have  watched  the  pale  Tuberose,  aglow 

With  phosphorescent  light, 
And  Water-lilies  lying  low 

On  sacred  tanks  at  night. 

Have  wandered  where  the  Moghra  flowers 

Exhale  their  scent  at  noon. 
And  dreamt  sweet  dreams  where  Jasmin  bowers 

Grow  white  beneath  the  moon. 
Have  seen  the  Poppies'  crimson  wave 

O'erflow  the  land  for  miles 
And  Roses,  on  an  Eastern  grave 

Turn  even  Death  to  smiles. 
72 


By  night,  my  fancy  spreads  her  wings 

In  visions  that  console, 
But  all  day  long,  remembered  things 

Are  dragging  at  my  soul. 
I  want  the  silver  on  the  sea, 

The  surf  along  the  shore. 
The  ruined  Mosque,  whose  weeds  grow  free, 

Where  Princes  prayed  of  yore. 

1  want  the  lonely,  level  sands 

Stretched  out  beneath  the  sun, 
The  sadness  of  the  old,  old  lands, 

Whose  destiny  is  done. 
The  glory  and  the  grace,  that  cling 

About  the  mountain  crest 
W^here  tombs  of  many  a  faithless  king 

Guard,  faithfully,  their  rest. 

Not  lightly  would  I  speak  of  Love, 

Or  estimate  his  power. 
But  every  star  that  wheels  above, 

And  each  enamelled  flower 
That  sends  persuasive  influence 

To  touch  the  human  mind, 
Appeals  to  some  strange,  inner  sense 

That  Love  can  never  find. 

Love  always  needs  his  ally.  Youth, 

Or  lost  is  all  his  charm  ; 
A  sunset  is  a  golden  truth 

Nor  age  nor  ill  can  harm. 


73 


And  loveliness  will  lend  the  earth 

Its  radiance  and  sheen 
If  but  one  rosebud  come  to  birth, 

One  single  leaf  grow  green. 

Ah,  waving  trees  of  Wharncliffe  House, 

That  tremble  to  and  fro, 
Old  dreams  and  fancies  you  arouse. 

Old  fires  you  set  aglow. 
Your  shaded  greenness  soothes  the  eye, 

Worn  out  with  dusty  hours, 
But  still  I  crave  that  Eastern  sky. 

Those  brilliant  Orient  flowers  ! 


74 


All  Farewells  should  be  gently  spoken 


Ay,  smooth  your  hair  for  another  lover, 
Refold  the  satin,  restring  the  pearls. 

Lest  those  who  will  take  my  place  discover 
Discoloured  tints  and  dishevelled  curls. 

Lift  up  those  delicate  lips  that  mine 

Reddened  with  kisses  but  yesterday. 

Let  others  drink  the  dregs  of  the  wine 
We  two  have  tasted  and  flung  away. 

1  wish  you  well  ;  go  gather  the  gold. 

The  little  triumphs  you  hold  so  dear. 

For  you  the  pasture,  the  sheltered  fold  : 

Ways  smoothed  by  custom  and  fenced  by  fear. 

You  could  not  have  lived  aloof,  afar 

In  golden  deserts,  by  lonely  streams. 

Be  rich,  be  courted,  be  all  you  are. 

But  seek  not  silence,  nor  love  nor  dreams. 

Yet  what  am  I  that  my  song  should  shame  you. 
What  strength  have  1,  that  I  call  you  weak? 

Ah,  Love  alone  has  the  right  to  blame  you 
And  He  is  a  God  and  will  not  speak. 


75 


One  thing  there  Is  yet  to  be  glad  of;  Fate 
In  makinor  ys  one  has  not  left  us  three. 

No  child  shall  inherit  our  love's  estate 

To  be  false  like  you  or  forlorn  like  me. 

What  if  your  sweet  and  treacherous  eyes 

Had  smiled  at  me  from  a  child  of  mine 

Your  delicate  lips,  so  apt  at  lies, 

Lived  and  laughed,  a  perpetual  sign 

Of  fitful  passion  and  frenzied  hours 
That  now  are  utterly  passed  away, 

Dead  and  forgotten  as  last  year's  flowers 

And  all  sweet  things  that  have  had  their  day. 

Yet,  last  farewells  should  be  gently  spoken, 
■  And  times  of  pleasure  let  no  man  grudge. 

Of  things  once  loved,  though  his  heart  be  broken, 
A  lover  has  never  the  right  to  judge. 


76 


Garden  Song 

Forgive  me,  In  that  I  kissed  your  lips 

Too  fiercely  or  too  soon  ; 
It  was  the  fault  of  the  nightingale 

Singing  against  the  moon. 
If  Reason  swerved  in  a  brief  eclipse 

The  while  I  sinned  my  sin, 
Opposed  to  Love,  it  must  always  fail 

Since  Love  must  always  win. 


The  flowers  rejoiced  in  that  kiss  of  ours, 

Even  as  they  were  tain 
The  great  night  moths  should  ravage  their  hearts. 

Seeking  for  golden  gain  : 
Bringing  them  pollen  from  other  flowers, 

Set  open  through  the  night 
To  play  their  motionless,  mystic  parts 

In  Nature's  marriage  rite. 


And  who  was  I,  to  resist,  withstand 
That  charm  of  fragrant  gloom  ? 

A  summer  night  has  a  thousand  powers 
Of  scent  and  stars  and  bloom 


Forgive  me,  in  that  my  errant  hand 

Caressed  your  silken  hair, 
Oh  lay  the  blame  on  the  Orange  flowers, 

You  kftow  how  sweet  they  were  ! 


78 


The  Match-maker 


Many  are  loved,  but  few  indeed  adored 
With  the  devotion  paid  to  thee,  O  Lord. 
She  bids  me  steal  the  tassel  of  thy  sword. 

Thinking  of  love. 

That  she  may  fasten  it  above  her  bed, 
Thus  will  some  subtle  sense  of  thee  be  shed, 
When  the  wind  blows  across  its  gold  and  red. 

Fancy  of  love  1 

Further,  she  bade  me  say  these  words  to  thee  ; 
"  Downcast  and  long  although  my  lashes  be. 
Thine  eyes  have  burnt  into  the  heart  of  me." 

Language  of  love 

"  Mimosa  wood,  though  on  the  threshold  laid 
And  subject  unto  passing  footsteps  made. 
Can  still  send  forth  fresh  shootlets,  unafraid." 

Fable  of  love  .'' 

"  Such  is  the  tree's  innate  vitality. 
And  if  my  heart  were  trampled  down  by  thee. 
Still  would  new  shoots  of  love  arise  from  me  !  " 

Fervour  of  love  I 


79 


As  waits  the  sacrifice  upon  the  pyre, 
Fearing,  yet  longing  for,  the  sacred  fire, 
Her  beauty  craves  the  flame  of  thy  desire, 

Master  of  love. 

There  is  an  island  in  the  Southern  Sea, 
Where  maidens,  when  they  children  cease  to  be 
With  Festivals  of  Laughter  are  set  free. 

Island  of  love. 

Set  free  to  love  ;  none  hinder  them  nor  chide, 
Laughing,  they  call  their  lovers  to  their  side. 
Laughing,  their  lovers  leave  them,  satisfied, 

Joyous  with  love. 

Go  thou  to  her,  such  laughter  will  be  thine. 
And  when  her  arms  about  thy  youth  entwine, 
Thou  wilt  be  grateful  for  these  words  of  mine. 

Message  of  love. 

I  leave  thee,  Lord,  and  if  thou  shouldst  consent. 
And  thus  thy  gracious  life  with  hers  be  blent, 
Remember  in  the  days  of  thy  content, 

This  slave  of  love. 


80 


Vain-Glory 


If  you  feel,  in  the  Chaos  of  Things, 

Life  is  somewhat  a  sorrowful  jest, 
Come  to  the  shadow  of  Love's  soft  wings, 

To  starlit  silence  and  dreams  and  rest. 
Leaving  the  glory,  the  pomp,  the  power. 

Fame  and  fortune  and  folly  and  fret. 
The  Western  sun  is  a  golden  flower  1 

Come  to  love,  come  to  forget  1 


Turn  your  tender  and  radiant  eyes, 

Eyes  like  amethysts,  jewelled  and  clear. 
What  do  they  see  in  the  world  to  prize. 

Which  of  its  baubles  would  they  hold  dear  ? 
Vain  are  the  glories,  every  one, 

Vain  to  conquer  and  vain  to  regret  ; — 
The  falling  shadows  engulf  the  sun, 

Come  to  love,  come  to  forget  ! 


The  Flag  of  Glory  is  quickly  furled, 

The  Sword  of  Honour  is  hardly  more  ; 
To  those  who  wander  about  the  world 

The  standards  vary  ;  one  is  not  sure. 

F  8l 


One's  driftine;  soul.  In  Life's  ebb  and  flow, 

Would  tain  be  faithful  to  some  things  yet, 

But  youth  is  calling,  the  sun  is  low, 
Come  to  love,  come  to  forget  ! 

From  shade  of  sorrow  or  stress  of  strife. 

Here,  in  the  desert,  how  far  one  seems. 
Oh,  follow  your  fmcy,  lend  your  life 

To  the  golden  guidance  of  your  dreams  ! 
And  come  to  me  :  you  are  free  to  go 

Ere  ever  the  stars  of  morning  set ; — 
The  fires  of  sunset  are  burning  low, 

Come  to  love,  come  to  forget  1 


fta 


Worth  while 


I  ASKED  of  my  desolate  shipwrecked  soul 
"  Wouldst  thou  rather  never  have  met 

The  one  whom  thou  lovedst  beyond  control 
And  whom  thou  adorest  yet  ? " 


Back  from  the  senses,  the  heart,  the  brain, 

Came  the  answer  swiftly  thrown, 
"What  matter  the  price  ?  we  would  pay  it  again, 

We  have  had,  we  have  loved,  we  have  known  ! 


}» 


Invitation  to  the  Jungle 


The  Jungle  gloom  is  dim  and  cool, 

And,  even  through  the  noonday  heat, 

Among  the  reeds  beside  the  pool 
The  silent  air  is  freshly  sweet. 

Though  desert  winds,  sand-laden,  pass, 
And  all  the  tree-tops  bend  and  sigh, 

No  breezes  stir  the  flower-filled  grass 
Beside  the  lake  where  we  shall  lie. 

We  shall  not  hear  the  Temple  bells, 
The  tom-tom's  sad  insistent  beat, 

The  far  Bazaar,  whose  murmur  swells 
With  eager  cries  and  restless  feet. 

We  shall  not  know  the  myriad  cares 

That  make  the  Home's  soft  tyranny, 

And  all  the  Temple's  lip-worn  prayers. 
Its  ordered  gifts,  will  pass  us  by. 

Those  lip-worn  prayers  ;  whose  sense  is  lost 
Effaced  by  long  and  tearful  use. 

By  thousands  daily  skywards  tost. 

While  still  the  God's  reject, — refuse, — 

84 


Let  others  pay  the  reverence  due 

With  waving  lights  and  sacred  flowers. 

I  pray  no  more  except  to  you, 

My  faith  is  in  this  love  of  ours. 

A.nd  I  shall  twine  the  Kuskus  grass 

To  shield  the  thing  I  hold  so  dear. 

What  if  the  fierce-eyed  Panthers  pass  ? 
I  know  their  ways  and  have  no  fear. 

The  jungle  is  my  native  land 

And  love  shall  smooth  its  paths  for  you 
Ah,  could  I  make  you  understand, 

How  well  it  is,  this  thing  you  do. 

You  leave  the  world,  and  passing  by 
Its  tarnished  gold  and  futile  strife, 

Gain  freedom,  love,  the  open  sky, 

The  flowers  upon  the  Tree  of  Life  ! 


8? 


The  Sinjib  Tree 

I  AM  the  flowery  Sinjib  tree, 

The  sweetest  thing  in  the  world, 
With  silvery  leaves  on  a  rugged  stem 

And  golden  bugs  incurled. 
Oh,  traveller,  turn  thy  face  to  me 

Ere  ever  thy  tent  be  furled. 


"Bring  here  the  maiden  of"  thy  desire 
In  my  scented  shade  to  rest, 

And  be  she  cold  as  bitterest  snow 
On  Takht-i-Suliman's  crest. 

Yet  she  shall  open  her  arms  to  thee 
And  entreat  to  be  caressed. 


And  she  shall  crave  for  thy  love  and  thee. 
Who  was  erst  so  coldly  calm, 

For  the  subtle  scents  of  my  honeyed  flowers 
Shall  soothe  her  like  a  charm. 

Till  she  shall  long  for  a  child  of  thine 

To  nestle  within  her  arm. 
86 


For  I  am  the  Flower  of  Khorassan, 

The  silvery  Sinjib  tree, 
And  he  who  pitches  his  canip  beneath 

Shall  dream  of  love  and  of  mc, 
As  my  scented  breath  steals  through  the  tent 

To  enhance  his  ecstasy  1 


«f 


The  Outlaw 


Worn  we  lie  on  the  shimmering  sand, 
Well  quit  of  the  world  and  free. 

The  scent  of  the  flowers  that  bloom  inland 
Is  wafted  over  the  sea. 

I  lean  on  your  shoulder,  round  and  bare. 

As  soft  as  a  ripened  peach. 
And  watch  the  weed,  like  a  woman's  hair, 

Drift  up  on  the  curving  beach. 

Twilight  falls  on  the  violet  hills, — 
On  silver  surf  at  their  feet, — 

From  groves  of  Orange  a  wild  bird  trills 
Songs  that  are  cruelly  sweet, — 

Lilac  and  lemon  and  rose  and  grey 

Lie  soft  on  the  dimpled  waves, — 

The  golden  tribute  of  parting  day 
Is  laid  on  the  Moorish  graves. 

The  lonely  dead,  who  are  dispossessed  ; 

A  Minaret  marks  their  Creed, 
Grim  cactus  hedges  enshrine  their  rest. 

What  need,  my  brothers,  what  need  ? 
88 


They  faced  the  curses  and  cares  of  Life, 
And  how  shoukl  they  fear  in  Death 

The  howls  of  the  hoarse  hyenas'  strife, 
Their  carrion  tainted  breath  ? 


Nay,  Well-beloved,  why  shudder  and  thrill, 
When  that  graveyard  meets  your  view  ? 

Gardens  or  Rest,  or  Death  if  you  will, 
Are  closed  for  awhile  to  you. 


Safe  in  your  youth,  which  is  my  reproach  ; 

I  take  it  to  stifle  pain, 
As  men  repel  the  waves  that  encroach 

From  stress  of  the  outer  Main. 


Building  a  dyke,  or  a  strong  sea-wall. 

But  if  this  they  fail  to  do. 
Collecting  wreckage,  things  slight  and  small, 

For  these  have  their  value  too. 


As  massed  together  in  heaps  they  lie 
Resisting  the  rising  tide 

And  slowly,  surely,  the  waves  defy, — 
The  builders  are  satisfied. 


Thus  have  I  taken  your  sixteen  years 

To  ward  my  sorrow  away, 
^nd  your  young  eyes  that  have  known  no  tears 

Look  gaily  over  the  bay 


Towards  the  country  of  sober  skies, 

The  land  of  the  sullen  sea, 
Where  dwell  the  azure,  disdainful  eyes 

That  never  had  light  for  me. 

Majiy  the  rules  in  the  stressful  North  ! 

And  wearier  most  than  wise  ; 
But  though  I  wandered  away,  came  forth 

From  under  those  clouded  skies. 

Two  laws  are  fixed,  as  the  stars  above, 

For  every  race  and  clime  ; 
One  is  the  cruel  Sweetness  of  Love 

And  one  the  Shortness  of  Time  ! 

Ah,  Well-beloved,  though  I  may  not  spend 
The  best  of  my  soul  on  you. 

Ask  of  me  as  you  would  of  a  friend, 
All  that  I  can  I  will  do. 

For  now  that  none  have  the  right  to  say 
"  This  thing  is  not  meet  for  thee," 

1  take  what  happiness  drifts  my  way 
Well  quit  of  the  world  and  free. 


90 


Return  ! 


Serene  and  slender,  and  more  than  ivory  white  ; 
Whose  Sphynx-likc  riddle  it  never  was  mine  to  read, 
I  implore  Thee,  by  all  our  moments  of  past  delight. 
Have  pity  !     Take  heed  ! 

How  long,  Oh,  Lord,  this  crucifixion  of  me, 
Whose  whole  soul  faints  for  a  word, — for  a  single  touch  ? 
Oh,  Thou,  whom  I  seek  through  Thy  sinister  mystery, 
And,  understanding  so  little,  desire  so  much. 
Have  pity  on  me  1 

Thy  hair  was  gold,  the  pale,  dim  gold  of  the  North, 
Thy  weary  attitudes  quiet  in  graceful  rest. 
But  Thy  tortured  and  desperate  soul  looked  wildly  forth, — 
Through  the  eyes  of  a  haunted  man,  distraught,  distressed, 
By  sorrow  or  wrath. 

I  would  rather  share  Thy  hell,  that  I  dimly  guess, 
Than  any  alien  heaven  unknown  of  Thee. 
Oh  out  of  Thine  own  despair.  Beloved,  heed  my  distress, 
And  return  to  me  ! 


91 


Philosophy  of  Morning 

Slave 


(( 


(( 


Ay,  he  is  fair,  yet  not  indeed  so  fair 

As  thou  transfigurest  him 
In  thine  own  eyes,  clear  as  the  morning  air. 


Ay,  he  is  strong  and  lithe,  yet  not  in  truth 

As  thou  rememberest  him, 
'Tis  the  intoxication  of  thy  youth  1 


cc 


Mistress  of  mine,  for  once  let  truth  be  told. 

These  lovers  are  less  lovely  than  they  seem, 

*Tis  love,  who  subtly  turns  their  brass  to  gold 
With  the  alluring  magic  of  a  dream." 


Princess 

"Thy  chatter,  girl,  is  like  a  nest  of  jays  ! 
Disturb  me  not  with  jangling  coflFee  trays  ! 
Reclose  the  lattice  and  shut  out  the  light 
I  have  no  haste  to  end  the  peace  of  night. 

92 


{Sings)  "  He  whom  1  love  is  like  a  lonely  tower 

Lit  by  the  sunlight  of  a  great  renown, 
Aspiring  skyward  in  unconscious  power 

Above  the  dust  and  clamour  of  the  town. 

"  The  West  wind  fanned  the  battlemented  crest, 
And,  in  the  frolic  of  an  idle  hour, 
Left  a  light  seed  among  the  stones  to  rest 

"Which  later  bloomed  a  scented  golden  flower. 

"  Oh,  Seomar,  so  much  desired  of  me. 

Lovely  and  lone  and  lofty  as  thou  art. 
May  it  be  written  in  my  fate's  decree 

To  plant  love's  golden  flower  against  thy  heart ! 

"And  if  love  be  the  dream  thou  sayst  it  is 
What  matter  ?  so  it  bring  that  free  of  his 
Near  unto  mine,  and  longing  find  relief. 
I  care  not  if  the  dream  be  true  or  no 
So  it  be  not  too  brief!  " 

Slave 

"  'Tis  ever  so  ! 
And  still  the  young  waste  in  Love's  fitful  flame 
The  force  that  else  had  brought  them  gold  and  fame." 

Princess 

"  Didst  thou  not  tell  me  of  one  who  bought  thy  youth 
How  that  his  age  hindered  his  pleasure  in  thee  ? 
Spite  of  his  gold,  gained  without  pity  or  ruth 
His  uncut  emeralds  and  pearls  of  the  sea. 

93 


"And  what  of  him  who  headed  the  tribes  last  year 

Against  the  Sultan  ?     When  he  had  lost  the  game, 
Blinded  and  burnt,  and  broken  with  pain  and  fear, 

Cared  he  then  for  the  passing  Mirage  of  Fame  ? " 

Slave 
"  Truly,  men  gain  not  much  for  all  their  strife  !  " 

Princess 


(C 


There  are  some  chapters  in  the  book  of  life 
Pages,  whose  print  demands  the  morning  light, 
That  youth  alone  can  understand  aright. 
These  I  would  read  while  time  is  with  me  still 
Let  after  happenings  be  what  they  will. 
For  this  I  hold,  that  when  a  woman  lies 
Watching  her  beauty  fire  her  lover's  eyes 
While  the  lithe  strength,  she  worshipped  from  afar, 
Melts  in  her  arms  and  quivers  on  her  breast, 
She  knows  the  utmost  sense  of  joy  and  rest 
That  fate  has  given  to  this  luckless  star 
Men  call  the  world. 


"And  though  the  dream  may  fade, 
Passing  away,  as  sunshine  into  shade, 
Memories  of  its  light  will  still  assuage 
The  weariness  that  haunts  the  after  age. 

"  So  shall  she  see  the  fire  in  other's  eyes, 
Hear  the  quick  questions  and  the  low  replies, 
And  these  shall  not  disturb  her  inward  rest, 
Since,  in  her  spring  she  also  knew  the  best. 

94 


**  But  those  who  let  the  days  of  youth  drift  by, 
Scorning  to  share  a  lover's  ecstasy, 
They  shall  lament,  when  all  their  youth  has  flown 
Most  bitterly,  because  they  have  not  known. 


C( 


Ah,  close  the  lattice,  leave  me  to  my  dreams. 
Shut  out  the  brightness  of  the  morning  beams, 
Let  me  return,  to  night  where  silence  is 
And  the  worn  beauty  of  that  face  of  his." 


95 


The  Slave 


In  purple  haze  the  sun  has  set, 
A  tuft  of  palms,  a  Minaret, 

Rise  clear  against  the  sky. 
The  silence  of  the  scented  air 
Stirs  to  a  sense  of  evening  prayer 

At  the  Muezzin's  cry. 


What  care  have  I,  that  yesterday 
1  led  thee  as  a  slave  away 

From  Maroc's  market-place  ? 
Are  we  not  all  the  slaves  of  love  ? 
The  very  stars  that  wheel  above 

Are  bound  by  time  and  space  ! 


I  struck  the  fetters  from  thy  hands 
Only  to  forge  thee  stronger  bands  ; 

Leastways,  'twas  my  desire 
To  hold  thy  captive  soul  to  me, 
Even  as  mine  is  chained  to  thee, 

By  links  of  passionate  fire. 
96 


I  want  thee  for  thy  beauty's  sake, 
Though  naught,  as  owner,  will  I  take  ; 

Thou  art  entirely  free. 
Yet,  if  thy  gaze  of  sombre  fire 
Find  aught  in  me  to  wake  desire 

Then  give  thyself  to  me  I 


97 


The  Seasons 


Youth 


Would  God,  that  I  could  love  thee  less  ! 

My  days  are  lost  in  dreams  of  thee. 
I  do  my  work  in  weariness, 

Till  kindly  twilight  sets  me  free. 

Throughout  the  night  thy  beauty  burns. 
The  more  possessed,  the  more  desired. 

Until  another  day  returns 

To  find  me  desperately  tired. 

Middle  Age 

Ah,  me,  that  I  could  love  thee  more  ! 

I  know  thee  kind  ;  I  see  thee  fair, 
Why  can  I  not,  as  oft  of  yore, 

In  soft  caresses  lose  my  care  ? 

At  times  life's  dragging  afternoon 

Is  quickened  by  thy  morning  charms  ; 

I  seek  thee,  but  alas  !   I  soon 

Forget  thee,  even  in  thine  arms  1 

98 


Age 

These  lovers  !      Who  can  understand 

Their  vivid  joy,  their  wiKl  despair  ? 

He  does  but  live  to  kiss  her  hand, 

And  she  would  die  to  touch  his  hair  ! 

Love  is  an  enemy  to  Rest, 

Which  surely  is  Life's  dearest  good, 
Yet,  something  stirs  within  my  breast 

And  murmurs,  "  Once  you  understood  !  " 


Q9 


Devotion  of  Aziz  to  Mir  Khan 

Mir  Khan 
**  And  now,  Aziz,  I  take  my  leave  of  thee.'* 

Aziz 
"  Farewell,  Mir  Khan." 

Mir  Khan 

"  Hast  thou  no  more  to  say  ? " 

Aziz 
"I,  saying  farewell  to  thee,  take  leave  of  all." 

Mir  Khan 

"Thou  knowest,  Aziz,  I  shall  return  to  thee. 
I  do  but  leave  thee  now,  at  thy  command." 


Aziz 


**Ay,  at  my  prayer." 

100 


Mir  Khan 

"  Indeed  I  shall  return 
Ere  the  fifth  sunset  gild  these  barren  hills. 
1  would  have  stayed  with  thee  ;  have  stayed  alone, 
Did  I  not  feel  the  truth  of  all  thy  words, 
How  that  my  name  entails  a  greater  risk 
Than  thine  my  foster-brother,  yet  I  go 
Somewhat  in  doubt " 

Aziz 

"  I  have  no  doubt  at  all 
Only  go  quickly,  lest  my  heart  should  break !  " 

Mir  Khan  i 

I 

"  See,  now,  Aziz,  it  is  but  as  thou  sayest,  i 

If  I  should  stay,  they  will  imprison  me,  | 

And  hold  me  long,  knowing  my  father's  name 

Makes  me  a  hostage,  worthy  to  be  held. 

Whilst  thee  they  will  not " 

Aziz 
"  Mc  they  will  not  hold.'* 

Mir  Khan 
"  What  dost  thou  murmur  ?  " 

Aziz 

"  Nothing.     Go,  Mir  Khan. 
The  last  faint  light  has  left  the  lilac  hills, 

lOI 


And  thou  shouldst  start.     Even  dlsoruised  as  now 
In  the  disfiguring  raiment  of  a  slave, 
Thy  beauty  shines  like  evening  stars,  ablaze 
Through  dusky  mists  that  but  enhance  their  glow 
Walk  warily,  Mir  Khan,  and  hide  thine  eyes, 
Lest  women  see,  and  passion  shipwreck  thee 
Ere  thou  hast  reached  thy  fort " 

Mir  Khan 

"  Whence  I  return 
With  a  picked  squadron  to  deliver  thee." 

Aziz 
"  Why  dost  thou  hesitate  ?  " 

Mir  Khan 

^*  Farewells  are  sad. 
And — there  is  something  in  thine  eyes,  Aziz, 
Dost  thou  ? — thou  canst  not — doubt  of  my  return  ?  " 

Aziz 

"I  doubt  thee  not,  Mir  Khan.     Another  star 
Has  risen  above  the  purple  mountain  crest, 
Thou  shouldst  be  gone." 

Mir  Khan 

"  Believe  me—'* 

102 


Aziz 

"  I  believe. 
Indeed  I  know.     Thine  inmost  secret  thoughts 
Are  mine,  were  always  mine.     Ah,  try  me  not. 
Leave  me,  whilst  1  can  bid  thee  leave  me.     Go, 
Lest  I  implore  thee,  '  Stay  and  die  with  me  1'  " 

Mir  Khan 

"  Die  ?     But  thou  diest  not  !      I  had  not  changed 
My  state  and  garments  with  thee,  had  a  thought 
Of  death  to  thee,  or  even  the  chance  of  death. 
Glanced  on  my  mind.     Nay,  then,  I  stay,  Aziz." 

Aziz 

"There  is  no  risk.     Thou  art  so  much  to  me 
Even  a  five  days'  parting  moves  me  so, — 
Breaks  up  my  courage,  till  I  hardly  heed 
What  words  1  say.     Go  now.     Thou  art  Aziz, 
Aziz,  the  slave,  remember,  not  Mir  Khan, 
Beloved  of  women,  and  ever  in  their  snares. 
Even  as  now." 

Mir  Khan 
"  Take  thou  my  opium." 

Aziz 

"  Nay,  thou  willst  need  it  in  the  mountain  pass  ; 
I  have  my  own." 


103 


Mir  Khan 

"Thine  own  was  given  to  me 
Long  since  thou  knowest." 

Aziz 
"  I  tell  thee  I  want  it  not  ! 

Mir  Khan 
"  Well,  as  thou  willst,  Aziz,  farewell." 

Aziz 

"  Farewell." 


Aziz 

"  Ah,  thou  art  gone  indeed.     Mir  Khan,  Mir  Khan, 

Return  to  me,  return  !     I  am  lost  !     I  am  dead  ! 

Is  that  the  sound  of  his  returning  feet .'' 

Nay,  it  is  but  a  stone,  his  horse's  hoof 

Sets  leaping  down  the  hillside.     Oh,  Mir  Khan, 

Thou  art  gone  from  me,  and  my  life  is  gone  with  thee  1 

"Ay,  thou  hast  gone,  and  left  me  to  my  fate, 

Knowing  I  knew  thou  knewest.     For  thou  didst  know. 

Last  midnight,  when  Sher  Afzul  came  to  me 

And  told  me  the  Shah-Zada  had  decreed 

That  thou  shouldst  die,  for  that  light  love  of  thine 

Amongst  his  women,  also  he  made  known 
104 


Thou  hadst  arranged  to  change  with  me,  to  say 
*  Stay  thou  Aziz,  while  I,  Mir  Khan,  return 
To  bring  thee  speedy  succour  from  the  fort. 
And  if  they  find  that  thou  art  but  Aziz, 
Aziz,  the  slave,  and  not  the  lord  Mir  Khan, 
They  will  not  wrong  thee,  will  not  torture  thee 
As  they  would  torture  me,  the  son  of  kings.' 

"  Further,  Sher  Afzul  said  thou,  smiling,  spak'st 
Saying,  '  He  loves  me  so,  he  will  remain. 
Even  with  certain  death  confronting-  him.' 

"  Ay,  but  thou  knew'st  me  well.      He  zvill  remain  ! 

There  was  no  need  ot  any  speech  of  thine 

To  bid  me  stay.     Am  I  not  thine  indeed 

For  life  or  death  ?     Oh,  I  am  glad,  Mir  Khan  ! 

Glad  that  thou  givest  me  this  exquisite  gift 

Even  the  gift  ot  death, — death  for  thy  sake. 

"  Thy  beauty  was  ever  a  perfect  thing  to  me, 
Gracious  and  free  ;  to  see  thy  luminous  eyes 
Lit  with  the  longing  of  thine  ardent  soul. 
Ablaze,  like  golden  suns,  in  love  or  war. 
To  touch  thy  feet,  setting  thy  stirrup-irons. 
Or  rest  my  lips  upon  thy  drinking-cup. 
These  were  the  joys  of  Aziz,  serving  thee. 
Living  unnoticed  with  thee,  in  thy  tents. 

*' Women  have  loved  me,  even  me,  Mir  Khan, 
Not  with  the  adoration  given  to  thee, 
But  with  kind  words,  and  gentle  ways,  that  fell 
On  my  worn  heart  as  rain  on  dusty  flowers, — 


105 


Perhaps  it  was  pity,  not  love  ;  I  do  not  know. 

But  this  devotion  that  I  have  for  thee, 

This  is  another  thing  ;   I  have  no  words 

To  tell  thee  what  thou  knewest  and  didst  not  heed. 

Why  shouldst  thou  heed  ?     What  could  I  do  for  thee, 

To  whom  the  whole  world  is  willing  to  give  its  all 

Holding  that  all  less  than  the  sight  of  thee  .'' 

"  When  at  to-morrow's  dawn  they  torture  me, 
Burning  my  eyes,  I  shall  remember  thine, 
The  luminous  circles  of  light  I  so  adored. 
And  when  they  crush  my  limbs,  I  shall  find  peace 
Knowing  that  thine,  safe  in  the  distant  fort. 
Amongst  thy  household  rest  in  licit  love. 

"  How  I  have  envied  them  the  things  they  did  ! 

The  women  who  loved  thee,  and  were  loved  by  thee. 

Envied  their  jewelled  hands  the  right  to  play 

In  that  soft  hair  of  thine,  their  little  teeth 

The  law  they  allowed  themselves  to  cling  and  bite 

Thy  rounded  shoulder,  I,  who  was  naught  to  thee, 

Set  to  prepare  the  couch,  to  smooth  the  quilt 

"  Once  I  remember,  crouched  against  thy  tent, 

I  sought  for  warmth  (thou  wouldst  have  pardoned  me 

So  cold  it  was  that  night)  and  heard  her  speak, — 

Her,  who  beside  thee,  tranced  in  pleasure,  lay, 

Saymg,  *It  is  not  for  thy  beauty's  sake 

That  1  desire  thee  so,  but  for  thy  fame. 

Sweeping  aside  thine  enemies,  as  leaves 

Are  blown  by  autumn  gusts,'  and  thy  reply 

Was  '  Ah,  Delight,  art  thou  so  sure  of  this  ? 

io6 


Wouldst  thou  have  sought  and  loved  me  had  I  been 
Ill-favoured,  say,  as  my  poor  slave,  Aziz  ? ' 

"  Ah,  poor  indeed  !      I  heard  nor  cared  no  more. 
Shivering  in  my  turs  upon  the  snow, 
Not  from  the  cold,  but  from  the  icy  pangs 
Of  pain  that  will  be  with  me  till  I  die. 
Truly,  to-morrow's  torments  will  not  be 
Crueller  than  these  memories  of  mine. 
The  heated  irons,  the  flesh-dividing  steel. 
Are  they  not  gifts  from  thee,  my  well-beloved  ? 

"  Ah,  when  they  lead  me  out,  beyond  the  walls, 

I  shall  look  forth,  across  the  rosy  hills 

Knowing  that  far  beyond  their  lilac  rims 

Thou  wilt  awake,  in  all  thy  beauty's  pride. 

Safe  and  beloved,  already  forgetful  of  me. 

Whose  lonely  and  smouldering  life  has  broken  at  last 

Into  this  passionate  flame  of  death.     Mir — Khan " 


107 


The  Purple  Dusk 


Since  the  white  day  must  dawn  again  so  soon, 

And  early  love  is  diffident  and  shy, 
Oh,  charitable  clouds  conceal  the  moon 

Grant  the  indulgence  of  an  unstarred  sky  1 

Ah,  silver  surf,  abreak  along  the  shore, 

Cease  for  awhile  thy  restless  ebb  and  flow. 

The  silence  trembles  with  thy  sullen  roar 
And  the  soft  voice  I  love  is  very  low. 

Wind  of  the  Desert,  leave  the  Orange  flowers 
To  spill  their  sweetness  over  sand  and  sea. 

Come,  all  unperfumed,  to  this  coudi  of  ours  ; 

Blow  through  his  curls  and  bring  their  scent  to  me. 

Ah,  Time,  who  brought  this  treasure  to  my  breast, 
Knowing  so  well  that  cruelty  of  thine, 

I  would  die  now,  and  leave  thee  at  thy  best. 

Ere  thou  hast  torn  my  lover's  lips  from  mine. 


io8 


Hamlili,  the  Sultan  of  Song 


Alas,  for  the  fate  of  Hamlili, 

The  slender  fanatical  singer, 

Whose  fingers  were  skilled  on  the  ginbri ; 

Who  played  the  tears  into  men's  eyes. 
Who  harped  on  men's  hearts  till  they  quivered 
And  swayed  on  the  border  of  madness, 
Vibrating  and  twisting  in  passion  : 

Hamlili  :  the  Singer  of  Sighs  : 


Hamlili  :  Beloved  in  the  Soko  : 
Whose  song  was  as  rest  to  the  weary. 
As  Lips  of  the  Loved  to  the  Lover. 

Hamlili  :  Assuager  of  Care. 
Whose  tears  clustered  thick  on  his  lashes. 
As,  torn  from  the  heart  of  the  ginbri, 
The  music,  caressive  and  tender, 

Arose  in  the  tremulous  air. 


They  took  him,  the  victim  of  slander, 

And  burnt  out  his  eyes  In  the  Kasbah, 

They  cut  off  the  hand  of  Hamlili, 

The  hand  that  was  Lord  of  the  Strings, 

109 


Whose  slender  and  delicate  fingers, 
Persuaded  the  lute  as  a  lover 
Persuadeth  the  heart  of  his  mistress 
To  tender  and  passionate  things. 

Ah,  none  will  now  pause  in  the  Market, 
To  hear  in  the  twilight  of  springtime, 
When  flowers  that  hloom  in  the  country, 

Have  scented  the  heart  of  the  town, 
The  songs  of  that  Sultan  of  Singers, 
We  called  the  Caresser  of  Lutestrings, 
Who  lies  in  the  gloom  of  the  Kasbah, 

Whose  lute  is  for  ever  laid  down. 


no 


Love  is  the  Symbol  of  a  Sacred  Thing 


Who  scans  his  pedigree,  nor  shrinks  to  trace 

Some  link  unlawful  ?     Yet  he  had  not  been 

Had  this  illicit  love  not  taken  place, 

Or  that  forbidden  face  remained  unseen. 

They  who  say  any  love  is  coarse  or  light, — 

Even  the  brief  caresses  of  an  hour, 
The  careless  kisses  of  a  summer  night, — 

Condemn  the  root,  not  knowing-  of  the  flower. 

When  graceless  actions  of  some  casual  twain. 

Seem  but  the  surge  of  Youth,  the  heat  of  Wine, 

His  search  for  Pleasure,  or  her  hope  of  Gain, 
May  be  the  vassals  of  some  vast  design. 

For  who  can  tell  what  life  may  come  to  birth, 

Prophet  or  Captain  of  the  time  to  be 
As  from  light  seed,  flung  on  the  careless  Earth 

Breaks  forth  a  flower,  that  scented  mystery. 

And  though  from  an  embrace  no  fruit  may  spring 
Or  from  a  kiss  no  spark  be  kindled,  still 

Love  is  the  Symbol  of  a  sacred  thing, 

Through  which  the  Unseen  Powers  work  their  Will. 

ill 


Those  Unknown  Gods,  who  move  behind  a  veil 
No  mortal  sense  may  ever  hope  to  lift ; 

We  only  know  they  falter  not  nor  fail, 

And  they  have  granted  us  one  lovely  gift. 

This  Gift  of  Love,  which  we  condemn,  despise 
Bending  it  to  the  baseness  of  our  will. 

Yet  in  the  lowest  depths  that  passion  lies 

It  surely  keeps  some  heaven-born  fragrance  still. 

Therefore,  O,  you,  who  find  the  Perfect  Way, 
Scorn  not  the  lesser,  lighter  loves  you  see, 

Unworthy  though  they  seem,  yet  who  shall  say 

Fate  works  not  through  them,  for  the  Days  to  Be  ? 


112 


Istar-i-Sahara 


Dim  in  the  east  the  ruined  city  lies, 
Purple,  against  the  paler  purple  skies, 
And  slender  palms  and  minarets  arise, 
Into  the  night. 

The  sands  are  soft ;  by  desert  winds  caressed 
Into  a  thousand  ripples.     Let  us  rest 
And  watch  the  flaming  scarlet  of  the  west 
Fade  into  night. 

The  pale  pink  Persian  rose  is  like  thy  mouth, 
Thy  breath  is  sweet  as  breezes  from  the  south 
To  weary  lands  repining  in  the  drouth 
Long  days  and  nights. 

I  too  have  waited,  parched  and  worn  with  pain, 
Come  and  refresh  me,  as  the  gracious  rain 
Falls  on  tired  fields  and  makes  them  green  again 
Through  summer  nights. 

Ah,  how  I  love  thee.     Thou  art  very  fair, 
Witness  the  silken  softness  of  thy  hair, 
And  thy  calm  eyes,  clear  as  the  morning  air 
On  mountain  heights. 


113 


Gloom  falls  apace,  and  silence  spreads  afar, 
Give  me  thy  hands,  how  slim  and  cool  they  are. 
Lives  there  such  love  on  any  other  star 
That  shines  to-night  ? 

/Vh,  wait  awhile,  as  yet  I  only  care 
To  lie  to  leeward  and  drink  in  the  air 
That  passes  over  thee  and  through  thy  hair 
Bringing  delight. 

Withdraw  thy  lips  from  mine.  Insatiate  ! 
Ah,  give  me  time  Beloved — thou  willst  not  wait  ? 
Then, — as  thou  willst,  how  shall  I  strive  with  fate 
This  night  of  nights  ? 

Star  of  the  Desert,  make  me  thine  indeed, 
Though  thou  shouldst  slay  me  now,  I  should  not  heed. 
Of  future  days  and  nights  I  have  no  need 
After  this  night. 

My  lips  live  only  when  they  cling  to  thine 
Part  them  a  little  as  they  close  on  mine. 
So  1  may  crush  the  grape  and  drink  the  wine 
Of  my  delight. 

If  thou  hast  hurt  me  ?     Ah,  how  should  I  know  ? 
If  this  be  pain,  then  always  pain  me  so  ! 
Nay,  do  not  stir,  I  cannot  let  thee  go 

This  night  of  nights  ! 
114 


Justly  I  worship  thcc  !     Thou  art  divine 
Creating  thus  thy  life  anew  in  mine. 
Istar-Sahar  !  give  me  a  child  of  thine 
,  This  night  of  nights  1 


115 


Love  the  Careless 


Death  one  knows,  and  can  meet,  and  torture  and  war, 
All  the  varied  horrible  things  of  life. 

But  a  lover  is  so  defenceless.     He  cannot  return 
An  open  stab  from  the  one  beloved,  or  a  secret  thrust. 
He  has  laid  down  his  arms,  and  can  but;  accept  the  words 

that  burn 
Into  the  depth  of  his  soul.     What  can  I  do  ? 
Though  you  shatter  trust 

And  sin  in  every  way  that  man  can  sin  against  Love. 
1  cannot  enter  the  strife, 
Cannot  even  implore, 
Upbraid,  reprove, 

For  I  loved,  and  thrice  cursed  fool  that  I  am  !  I  love  you 

still. 
All  that  I  had  of  passion,  of  power,  even  of  life. 
Was  laid  at  your  feet.     It  did  not  avail  me  aught. 

Does  it  ever  avail  ? 

All  that  was  ever  given  or  done  or  dared 

If  the  one  beloved  be  unwilling,  can  only  fail. 

Yet  1  know  the  value  of  what  I  have  given — of  Love. 
The  silver  and  gold  of  the  Earth  are  no  bribes  for  Him, 
Nor  will  He  stoop  to  a  lure. 
ii6  ^ 


Kings  have  knelt,  imploring,  mid  only  heard 
On  the  lips  they  loved  and  longetl  for,  reiterate  "Nay," 
And  the  eyes  of  Beauty  itself,  perfect  and  pure 
Have  wasted  useless  tears  ;  grown  faded  ami  dim. 
And  Love  the  Careless  has  not  cast  them  a  thought. 

Still,  if  you  wish  to  throw  love  away,  throw  it  away  ! 
If  you  desire  to  squander  my  gifts,  do  as  you  will 
With  values  you  never  comprehended  or  even  knew. 

Once  I  saw  the  Summer  of  Love  in  your  eyes. 
Therefore  to-day  my  hands  are  no  longer  free 
I  am  dumb  as  the  silent  skies. 

A  lover  is  so  defenceless.     I  only  pray 

That  Fate  in  the  future  deal  gentlier.  Beloved,  with  you 

Than  you  ever  have  dealt  with  me  1 


117 


Shouldst  Thou  Consent 


Thou  knowest,  Lord,  that  my  desire 

Is  to  be  thine  indeed  ; 
Though  thou,  alas,  of  love  or  me 

Hast  neither  note  nor  need. 

Ah,  though  thou  canst  not  give  thyself 

My  longing  to  allay. 
Yet  grant  me  some  small  privilege 

To  take  my  pain  away. 

If  once  thy  lips  were  laid  on  mine 
(Canst  thou  not  spare  me  this  ?) 

I  could  enchant  myself  in  dreams 
With  memories  of  thy  kiss. 

What  is  a  small  caress  to  thee  ? 

Given, — forgotten  quite, — 
But  unto  me,  shouldst  thou  consent, 

An  infinite  delight  1 

The  Gods  who  send  the  sacred  flame 

Upon  the  altar  pyre 
Remain  afar,  serenely  calm 

Untroubled  by  desire. 
n8 


But  the  glad  worshipper  below 

Falls  faint  in  ecstasy  ; — 
Thus  would  it  be,  shouldst  thou  consent 

Between  thyself  and  me  ! 


119 


Reminiscence  of  Maeterlinck's  ''  Life  of  the 
Bee" 


Oh,  for  the  death  of  a  beautiful,  purple  bee, 
Sailing  away  to  the  blue  of  a  limpid  sky  ; 

To  have  yielded  up  one's  life  in  an  ecstasy, 

And  then,  in  the  very  climax  of  love,  to  die  ! 

To  give  oneself  completely,  once  and  for  ever  ; 

Drink  life  at  its  utmost  height  as  one  laid  it  down  ; 
Spend  one's  soul  in  the  rush  of  one  last  endeavour  ; 

And  rule  supremely  in  laying  aside  the  crown. 


120 


On  r3cck 


Truly  the  couch  is  hard  to  outward  seeming, 

The  vessel  sways  on  the  unquiet  sea, 
let  what  care  I  ?  who  nightly  in  my  dreaming 

Lay  your  soft  hair  between  the  planks  and  me. 

Storms  have  delayed  us,  and  the  cargo,  shifted, 

Lists  us  to  leeward  as  the  breakers  roll, 
I  had  not  cared,  not  even  though  we  drifted 

Out  to  uncharted  oceans  round  the  Pole. 

There  was  a  Rani  once,  who  long  neglected, 
Nightly  arrayed  herself  in  silk  and  gold. 

Waiting  the  footsteps,  loved  and  long  expected — 
Waiting  the  lover,  whom  she  could  not  hold. 

Once  on  her  wedding  night,  indeed,  he  sought  her 
Once,  and  once  only  ;  then  his  ardour  died. 

All  sequent  evenings  of  her  youth,  but  brought  her 
A  great  desire  ever  unsatisfied. 

Nightly  she  lay,  her  tears  and  jewels  gleaming 

In  the  dim  silver  from  the  stars  above. 
Nightly  her  limbs,  unconscious  in  her  dreaming. 

Still  took  the  tender  attitudes  ot  love. 

1:1 


For  twenty  years  hope  lingered,  unabated, 

Though  beauty  lost  its  bloom  and  youth  its  fire, 

Never  there  came  the  step  for  which  she  waited. 
Never  the  lover  of  her  heart's  desire. 

Yet  who  shall  weigh  what  subtle  consolation 
Solaced  the  Rani  in  her  lonely  sleep  ; 

\Vhen  her  locked  arms  in  love's  divine  elation 

Held  him  whom,  waking,  she  had  failed  to  keep. 

Thus  I,  who  watch  the  alien  planets  gleaming 

Over  the  waters  of  this  restless  sea. 
Drift  back  to  sleep,  and  ever  in  my  dreaming 

Lay  your  soft  hair  between  the  deck  and  me. 


122 


The  Ocean  Tramp 


Where  have  you  been,  O  wandering  soul  ? 

I  have  journeyed  far  and  wide  ; 
I  drift  to  a  home  in  any  port. 

Drift  out  upon  any  tide. 

And  what  have  you  lost,  O  restless  soul  ? 

I  have  left  it  seemeth  me 
A  bit  of  my  youth  in  all  the  ports 

That  are  clustered  round  the  sea. 

What  have  you  learned  ?     The  stress  of  the  shore, 

The  deep  sea's  desperate  strife. 
Some  secret  knowledge  of  men  and  things 

And  the  undertow  of  life. 

Found  you  no  Happiness  anywhere 

In  the  countries  where  you  roved  ? 

Once,  only  once, — a  handful  of  nights, — 
With  one  whom  I  met  and  loved. 


123 


The  Mirrored  Stars  of  Tangier 


It  was  the  darkest  hour  before  the  dawn, 
The  orange-scented  air  was  strangely  sweet 
And  stars  flashed  brilliantly  beneath  our  feet, 
Reflected  in  the  level  sands,  that  lay 
Lonely  and  mirror-like,  around  the  Bay. 

Lightly  we  walked  on  those  reflected  stars, 
Gleaming  among  the  drift  and  tangled  spars 
Left  by  the  waves  upon  that  lucent  lawn 
Whose  flowers  were  planets. 

Then  ourselves  we  flung 
Down  on  the  soft,  wet  sand,  and  all  the  skies. 
Where  countless,  jewelled  constellations  hung. 
Lay  near  and  lovely  to  our  wistful  eyes. 

Upon  one  silver  star  my  lips  were  pressed  ; 
A  vivid  gem,,  than  shone  in  Cassiopea, 
No  longer  far  away,  and  unpossessed, 
But  close  beneath  me,  tremulously  clear. 

And  I,  who  love  a  thing  remote  and  far, 

Drew  courage  from  that  sand-encircled  star. 

For,  as  my  lips  caressed  its  silver  fire. 

So  might  my  arms  embrace  my  Heart's  Desire. 

124 


At  Simrole  Tank 


"  May  you  be  tortured  living,  burned  when  dead, 

Your  camels  die,  and  virtue  leave  your  wife  !  " 
But  he,  who  sat  beneath  the  Peepul,  said 

Why  wish  him  more  than  average  human  life  ? 


(C 


12! 


The  Guru's  Tale :  The  Enchanted  Night 


When  falling  evening  cooled  the  air, 
The  Guru,  in  the  twilight  dim, 

Caressed  his  Chela's  silken  hair 

And  told  this  tale  of  love  to  him. 

"  Once,  on  the  march  to  Bikanir, 

I,  halting  by  a  wayside  well, 
Beheld  a  woman  drawing  near 

Who  cast  on  me  a  magic  spell. 

"  Not  hers  the  beauty,  day  by  day 

Soliciting  by  tender  lures, 
But  that  which  strikes  the  heart  straightway. 

And  instant  victory  ensures. 

"  She  murmured,  stretching  forth  her  arms, 
Her  red,  love-thirsty  lips  apart, 

'At  sunset, — under  yonder  palms, — 

Come  to  my  garden, — and  my  heart ! ' 

"Ah,  that  unending  afternoon  ! 

The  sun  seemed  tethered  in  the  sky. 
I  felt  my  inmost  senses  swoon 

With  my  desire's  intensity. 


*'  The  silver  twilight  came  at  length, 

1  reached  the  garden  cool  and  sweet, 

And  all  my  eager  youth  and  strength 
Lay  at  her  small  and  jewelled  feet. 

"Three  nights  we  gathered  our  delight: 
1  had  almost  kissed  her  lips  away, 

Yet  still  her  eyes,  alert  and  bright. 
Resented  the  invading  day. 

•*  Alas,  the  fourth  delirious  eve 

Ended  in  terrified  surprise  : 
Her  lamp  alight  she  was  wont  to  leave 

For  love  allured  her  through  the  eyes. 

"This  night  she  cried  in  passionate  pain, 
Her  heart  seemed  broken  in  her  breast, 

^Thy  beauty  is  too  great  a  strain, 

Let  us  put  out  the  light  and  rest.' 

("  Perchance  you  hold  the  speech  too  strong, 

Or  my  recording  it,  conceit, 
Ah,  surely  one  who  has  lived  so  long 

May  own  her  words  were  true  as  sweet.) 


"Then  T,  half  rising  to  obey. 

Beheld  a  strange  and  terrible  sight, 

*  Take  not,'  she  said,  *  thyself  away. 

For  I  will  quench  the  offending  light.' 

127 


"  She  raised  her  arm,  bejewelled  and  small, 

It  lengthened, — stretched  across  the  room,- 

Put  out  the  light  on  the  opposite  wall, 

And  then, — diminished  in  the  gloom  ! 

"  My  pulses  stopped,  my  passion  died  ; 

The  square,  rose-scented  chamber  ran 
To  thrice  our  length,  from  side  to  side. 

And  yet  her  arm  had  bridged  the  spam ! 

"  I  wrenched  myself  from  her  embrace, 
And,  heeding  not  her  desperate  cry 

Fled  from  that  strange,  enchanted  place 
As  deer  before  the  Cheetah  fly. 

*' Beneath  the  starlight,  cool  and  clear, 

I  raced  across  the  sands  alone. 
And  realised  in  stricken  fear 

No  mortal  mistress  1  had  known. 

"  My  spirit  told  me,  as  I  sped. 

Some  tortured  soul,  escaped  from  hell, 
One  of  the  lonely,  loveless  dead 

Had  risen  and  wooed  me  by  the  well. 

"  Ah,  Best-Beloved,  though  Youth  be  sweet. 
He  leads  us  to  strange  depths  and  heights. 

Now  leave  me  ;  later  we  shall  meet 

For  worship  with  the  Circling  Lights." 


128 


Among  the  Fuchsias 


Call  me  not  to  a  secret  place 

When  daylight  dies  away, 
Tempt  me  not  with  thine  eager  face 

And  words  thou  shouldst  not  say. 
Entice  me  not  with  a  child  of  thine, 

Ah,  God,  if  such  might  be. 
For  surely  a  man  is  half  divine 
Who  adds  another  link  to  the  line 

Whose  last  link  none  may  see. 

Call  me  not  to  the  Lotus  lake 

That  drooping  fuchsias  hide. 
What  if  my  latent  youth  awake 

And  will  not  be  denied  ? 
Ah,  tempt  me  not  for  I  am  not  strong 

(Thy  mouth  is  a  budded  kiss) 
My  days  are  empty,  my  nights  are  long. 
Ah,  why  is  a  thing  so  sweet  so  wrong 

As  thy  temptation  is  ? 


»»9 


At  the  Taking  of  the  Fort 


"  Inayet  Kahn,  I  have  no  love  for  thee  !  " 

"  When  have  I  asked  for  love  ?  lie  still  and  learn 

Beneath  the  stars,  how  I  would  give  thee  all." 

"  But  thou  art  hurting  me,  thy  kisses  burn  1  " 

"  I  shall  not  hurt  thee,  if  thou  willst  consent. 
Resist  me  not,  thou  dost  but  fire  my  brain, 

Hinder  thou  canst  not  ;  see,  I  loose  thy  hands 
And  in  a  moment  capture  them  again." 

"  Ah,  thou  art  cruel  !  "     "I  shall  be  crueller  yet  I 
Wherefore  refuse  ?     I  am  thy  destiny. 

Millions  of  years  ere  ever  we  were  born 

It  was  decreed  that  I  should  come  to  thee, 

"  Accepting  me  thou  dost  accept  thy  fate, 
Since  it  is  written  man  was  born  to  slay. 

Slay  and  be  slain,  and  women  in  their  turn 
Renew  the  wasted  lives  that  fall  away. 

"Ah,  blame  me  not,  it  was  not  1  who  made 
This  sad  chaotic  world  that  wounds  us  so 

With  life  and  love  and  death, — aimless  alike " 

"  Inayet  Kahn  !   have  pity,  let  me  go  I  " 

130 


"  For  this  I  slew  ;  for  this,  I  took  the  fort, — 

Crashed  through  the  horrors  of  the  blood-stained  fight, 

To  the  cool  twilight  and  thy  chill  dissent " 

"  Never  will  I  be  slave  to  thy  delight." 


"  This  knife  may  mar  a  beauty  that  resists, 

And  spoils  my  pleasure."     "  Slay,  then,  and  have  done, 
Thus  there  will  be  no  pleasure.      Safe  in  death 

I  shall  escape  from  thee,  Oh,  pitiless  one  !  " 

"  Nay,  for  thy  slender  frame  would  keep  its  warmth 
Quite  long  enough  for  me  to  slake  this  thirst, 

This  dear  and  desperate   need  1  have  of  thee  ; 

Ah,  the  desire  thou  couldst  have  curbed  at  first. 


"  In  thy  resisting  arms  has  grown  so  great 

1  needs  must  have  thy  beauty  for  my  own. 

Though  Destiny  decrees  that  I  repel 

The  only  lovely  thing  my  life  has  known  1 

"  I  have  lived  hardly  all  my  days,  God  knows  ; 

Little  of  women's  love  has  come  my  way  ; 
Strive  not  with  me,  thou  dost  but  make  me  cruel  ; 

I  could  be  tender  if  thou  wouldst  obey. 

'*  Ay,  with  a  tenderness  beyond  all  words 

Could  shed  my  very  soul  beneath  thy  ftety 

Lay  down  the  whole  of  youth  for  one  short  hour, 

It  thou  wouldst  share  that  hour  and  find  it  sweet. 

131 


"  I  had  such  dreams  about  this  night  with  thee  : 

All  through  the  tight  I   saw  these  planets  shine. 

With  each  new  wound  my  desperate  spirit  sobbed 
Let  me  but  live  to  reach  this  roof  of  thine  1 

"  And  I  have  reached  it  ;  cool  the  night-wind  blows 
Against  these  lips,  whose  fevered  prayers  are  vain. 

My  broken  ankle,  dragging  on  the  stone, 

Has  pained  me  not  as  thy  repulses  pain. 

"Ah,  my  beloved  one  ;  try  to  understand  ; 

Pity  this  burnt  up  mouth  with  one  cool  kiss. 
Thus  shalt  thou  make  my  madness  slave  to  thee, — 

Aie  !  then  thou  wouldst  escape  ?  take  this  and  this  !  ! 
.  •  •  •  • 

"  So  it  is  dead  ;  the  little  and  lovely  thing, 

Pinned  by  my  dagger  to  the  earthen  floor 

Liked  a  wired  flower.     Ah,  well,  1  had  my  way. 

The  small  clenched  hands  resisted  me  no  more. 

**  The  soft  curved  lips  spoke  no  repelling  words, 

I  can  die  now  for  I  am  satisfied. 
And  after  death  I  shall  demand  no  more 

Since  I  have  had  my  heaven  before  I  died. 

"  Now  for  my  knife  ;  thou  life-long  friend  of  me, 
Reluctantly  thou  leav'st  her  breast  for  mine  ; 

Well, — 'tis  the  sweetest  blood  that  thou  hast  drawn 

Who  hast  drawn  much  ;   I  did  m3^  work.   Do  thine 


\yi 


Twilight 


Come  to  mc  with  the  earliest  star, 

Thou  shalt  not  he  caressed, 
For  passion  and  love  shall  stand  afar 

That  1  may  give  thee  rest. 
Tell  of  thy  troubles  before  we  sleep 

Of  all  thy  hopes  and  fears, 
And  if  the  telling  should  make  thee  weep 

Then  1  will  drink  thy  tears. 


The  shade  shall  solace  thy  soul  that  grieves, 

And  I   shall  shield  thine  eyes, 
With  glossy  fans  of  magnolia  leaves, 

From  starlight  in  the  skies, 
While  all  the  cares  of  the  angry  hosts 

That  stalk  thy  soul  by  day 
Between  the  trees,  like  wandering  ghosts, 

Shall  softly  steal  away. 


Where  shouldst  thou  slumber,  if  not  with  me  ? 

Thy  haven  is  my  breast, 
I  stretch  myself  as  a  couch  for  thee, 

To  lull  thy  limbs  to  rest. 

133 


But,  Oh,  1  promise,  Lover  of  mine, 

By  all  the  stars  above 
1  will  not  offer  my  lips  to  thine, 

Nor  weary  thee  with  love  1 


134 


To  Aziz 


Ay,  thou  art  fair  ;   I  know  that  beauty  well. 
Have  I  not  longed  for  it  as  those  in  Hell 
Long  for  release  ? 

Thou  wouldst  be  kind  to  me  ?  but  when  I  craved 
Such  kindness  in  the  days  it  could  have  saved 
Thou  didst  not  cease 

To  torture  me,  Aziz,  and  now  that  Fate 
Has  brought  me  what  so  long,  I  so  desired, 

It  is  too  late, 

1  am  too  tired. 


'J5 


In  the  Vineyards 


Lightly  I  valued  my  youth,  as  a  trivial  bloom, 

Shared  with  the  rose  in  the  hedgerows,  the  peach  on 

the  tree. 

Till  his  lips  had  fallen  fiercely  on  mine  in  the  gloom 

Saying  they  found  youth  sweet ;  then  it  grew  dearer  tome. 

Ah,  my  light-hearted  youth,  that  I  knew  not  aright ! 

(Softly  insistent  he  spoke  through  the  heat  of  the  day) 
This,  in  the  vine-hidden  heart  of  a  midsummer  night, 

Was  resigned  in  his  forceful  arms  for  ever  and  aye. 


136 


In  the  African  Desert 


Ah,  but  his  lightest  kiss  was  more  sweet  to  me 
Than  any  caress  of  thine,  O  silver  sea  ! 
His  arms  have  held  me  gentlier  e'en  than  thou, 
In  thy  liquid,  green  embraces,  hold'st  me  now. 

Soft  and  cool  as  his  breast,  is  thy  foam  above, 
Even  as  soft  as  his  ways  and  words  of  love. 
Yet  was  his  cruelty  as  the  jagged  teeth 
Ot  the  hungry,  lurking  rocks  that  lie  beneath. 

Over  the  reef  thy  ripples  are  breaking  now, 
Curled,  as  the  soft,  dark  clusters  around  his  brow. 
Grim  as  an  octopus  in  its  darkened  lair. 
Ghastly  and  sinister  thoughts  lay  hidden  there. 

Pale  he  was  and  quiet,  with  reticent  eyes. 
Sombre  and  flecked  with  gold  as  the  midnight  skies. 
They  whispered  the  savage  blood  of  desert  kings 
Ran  in  his  veins  and  stung  him  to  cruel  things. 

Maybe  ;  I  know  not, — care  not — against  his  breast 
I  found  a  secret  garden  of  joy  and  rest. 
Yet  his  desire,  though  fierce,  was  a  fleeting  breath 
And  mine,  alas,  is  a  flame  that  burns  till  death. 


1J7 


"  Here  in  my  tent  is  a  couch  prepared  for  thee. 
Rest  thou  awhile  and  slumber,  awaiting  mc." 
Kindly  he  spoke,  when  the  weary  march  was  done 
And  the  camp-smoke  rose  across  the  setting  sun. 

Down  I  lav  in  the  shadow  ;  I  did  not  see 

That  cactus  thorns  were  the  couch  prepared  for  me. 

Ah,  the  pain  of  that  feverish,  endless  night, 

And  the  fainting  sleep  that  came  with  morning  light. 

Waking  I  found  myself  on  the  soft  warm  sands, 
"While  he  withdrew  the  thorns  with  remorseful  hands, 
Saying,  "  Forgive  me  again,  and  thou  shalt  rest 
To-night,  as  thou  desirest,  against  my  breast." 

Strange  and  sweet  were  the  ways  where  his  fancy  trod, 
A  panther's  fierceness  linked  to  dreams  of  a  God, 
Passion,  wild  as  the  Desert,  in  strength  and  power, 
Lips  as  soft  and  fresh  as  the  touch  of  a  flower. 

These  were  his  gifts  of  atonement  through  the  night. 
These,  with  persuasive  words  that  enhanced  delight, 
And  strange,  sad  songs  and  legends,  which  left  his  eyes 
Aglow  with  the  fire  of  sombre  memories. 

One  still  night,  on  the  breast  of  a  starry  sea, 

"  Row,  till  I  bid  thee  cease,"  he  ordered  me. 

The  skin  wore  through,  and  the  paddle  ends  were  red. 

Before,  when  the  sunrise  came,  the  word  was  said. 
138 


Yet  as  the  starlight  fell  on  his  long,  lithe  grace, 
The  vivid  and  tender  beauty  of  his  face, 
I  could  have  prayed  that  the  night  should  never  cease 
And  cursed  the  rosy  morning  that  brought  release. 

Over  the  rocks  he  would  swing  me,  to  and  fro, 
Where  the  white  surf  foamed  a  thousand  feet  below, 
Would  smile  and  murmur,  "  1  will  not  loose  thee — quite, 
This  graceless  body  of  mine  needs  thine  to-night." 

Locked  in  his  hut,  through  the  ardent  heats  of  June, 
He  would  not  allay  my  thirst,  by  night  or  noon. 
Saying,  "  If  water  and  wine  be  held  from  thee 
More  eagerly  willst  thou  drink  my  lips  and  me." 

He  pinned  my  lower  lip  to  the  lip  above, 

"  Lest  thou  in  my  absence  utter  words  of  love." 

With  pointed  shells  he  pricked  on  my  breast  his  name, 

"That  thou  may'st  keep  the  stamp  of  thy  love  and  shame." 

What  cared  I  .''     In  the  joy  of  passion's  blindness 
Little  I  recked  of  kindness  or  unkindness. 
Only  now,  when  he  leaves  me  in  lonely  peace. 
My  torment  begins  because  his  tortures  cease. 

Never  will  any  freshness  of  thine,  O  sea. 
Allay  this  endless  fever  alight  in  me. 
He  could  assuage  with  his  cruel,  tender  hands, 
But  alas,  he  neither  heeds  nor  understands. 


V1Q 


1  he  City :   Song  of  Mahomed  Akram 


Sinning,  and  sinned  against,  the  City  lay. 
Burnt  by  the  sun's  caresses  day  by  day. 
Passive,  defenceless,  with  her  latest  breath 
Conceiving  at  his  pleasure  plague  and  death. 

Relentlessly  he  poured  his  ardent  rays 
Into  her  cloistered  courts  and  secret  ways, 
While  the  hot  gold  he  spilt  upon  the  plain 
Rose  from  the  furnace  of  the  sands  again. 

Beneath  a  sullen  sunset,  dimly  red, 
Rent  by  the  lamentations  for  the  dead. 
Whose  burning-ghats  defiled  the  stagnant  air, 
The  breathless  city  waited  in  despair. 

Then  came  the  flutter  of  a  sudden  breeze. 
Fragrant  with  scents  of  aromatic  trees. 
Cool  with  the  magic  freshness  of  the  sea. 
And  the  dry  maize-leaves  shivered  restlessly. 

The  wind  went  onwards,  to  the  outer  gate. 
Thrilled  with  soft  pity  for  the  City's  fate, 
Dispensing  coolness,  passed  the  inner  wall^ 
And  fanned  the  lips  of  those  about  to  fall. 
140 


Swept  in  his  freshness  through  the  stifling  lane, 
Flew  through  low  casements,  fluttered  forth  again, 
Winnowed  the  market-place,  whose  floor  was  red, 
And  lightly  smoothed  the  cereclothcs  ot  the  dead. 

Stole  through  the  women's  chambers,  close  and  sweet, 
Lifted  their  clinging  silks  from  face  to  feet. 
Cooled  the  pale  brows  that  glimmered  in  the  dusk. 
Then  gained  the  open  faintly  tinged  with  musk. 

Entered  the  prison,  soothed  the  ring-worn  wrist, 
The  deeper  wounds  of  fettered  ankles  kissed. 
Giving  the  oidy  freedom  that  was  craved  ; 
Freedom  from  heat.     Thus  was  the  City  saved. 

His  coolness  left  her  fresh  as  any  flower. 

And  to  restrict  the  sun's  relentless  power. 

He  veiled  her  with  soft  clouds  and  bid  them  stay 

Till  all  the  heat-wrought  ill  should  pass  away. 

1  would  have  asked  such  aid  of  thee,  had  1  but  dared  ; 
Thou  couldst  have  done  as  much  for  me,  hadst  thou  but 

cared. 


141 


The  Jungle  Fear 


When  sunset  lights  are  burning  low, 
While  tents  are  pitched  and  camp-fires  glow, 
Steals  o'er  us,  ere  the  stars  appear, 
The  furtive  sense  of  Jungle  Fear. 

For  when  the  dusk  is  falling  fast 
Still,  as  throughout  the  Ages  past, 
The  stealthy  beasts  of  prey  arise 
And  prowl  around  with  hungry  eyes. 

Though  safe  beside  the  fire  I  sit 
And  stretch  contented  hands  to  it. 
Though  all  the  cheerful  camping-ground, 
W^ith  men  and  arms,  is  close  around, 

1  feel  the  Jungle  very  near 
And  shiver  with  instinctive  fear. 
For  in  some  hidden  cells  of  me 
Stirs  the  ancestral  memory 

Of  times  when  from  the  beasts  of  prey 

At  this  same  hour  men  slunk  away 

To  seek  their  caves,  and  thrilled  to  hear 

The  red-eyed  Panthers  lurking  near, 
14^ 


Or  the  weird,  melancholy  howl 
Of  famished  packs  of  Wolves  a-prowl. 
Long  centuries  have  since  passed  by 
But  still  these  instincts  will  not  die. 

And  even  men  in  Cities  pent, 
Who  never  slept  beneath  a  tent, 
Have  said  that  they  at  twilight  feel 
The  same  strange  fear  across  them  steal. 

Hid  in  our  being,  dim  and  deep. 
The  terrors  of  past  perils  sleep, 
A  heritage  obscure  and  vast 
From  Man's  unfathomable  past. 

Each  twilight,  when  the  sun  burns  down 
In  desert  waste,  or  crowded  town. 
When  shadows  fall  and  night  draws  near 
The  dusk  brings  back  the  Jungle  Fear. 


H3 


Disloyal 


You  were  more  than  a  Lover  to  me, — 

Were  something  sacred,  and  half  divine^  — 

Akin  to  Sunset  over  the  Sea, 

To  leaves  that  tremble  and  stars  that  shine. 

There  was  not  much  to  attract  in  me, 

No  gift  or  beauty  ;  you  did  not  care 

Enough  to  give  me  fidelity 

Who  cared  so  deeply,  and  could  not  share. 

Alas,  my  Temple  !      I  find  the  Shrine 

I  entered  barefoot,  with  bended  head. 

To  pay  that  tender  homage  of  mine, 

An  open  courtyard,  where  all  may  tread  I 

And  all  men  knew  it,  I  hear,  but   I, 

Who  being  a  trusting  fool,  it  seems, 

Went  to  the  Market  of  Love  to  buy 

With  coins  of  worship,  and  faith,  and  dreams  ! 

Still  it  is  over.      Now,  to  forget  1 

1  know  not  whether  to  choose  anew 

In   hopes  of  finding  loyalty  yet. 

Or,  fond  but  faithless,  drift  on  with  you. 

144 


Loving  you  lightly,  among  the  rest, — 
(Many  a  little,  not  greatly  one), — 

You  may  be  right  :   I  may  find  it  best 

To  do,  henceforward,  as  you  have  done. 

But  ah,  for  my  sweet,  lost  nights  with  you. 

When  had  Death  been,  in  the  dawning  grey, 

Price  of  your  beauty  and  love,  I  knew 

1  would  have  paid,  and  been  glad  to  pay  ! 


i4< 


The  Court  of  Pomegranates 


The  Rani,  decked  in  silk  and  pearls, 
With  Jasmin  flowers  among  her  curls, 
Said,  while  the  stars  grew  bright  above, 
"Draw  near,  O  girls,  and  speak  of  love  1  " 

Jai  {the  fan-waver) 

^  Ah,  how  shall  I  tell  thee  of  love,  O  Queen, 
For  mine  was  knotted  with  hate  ; 

With  a  dancing-girl  he  had  faithless  been 
And  rendered  me  desolate. 

"  He  lay  in  the  Tamarind  shade  at  rest. 
Where  Hunuman's  Temple  is. 

And  a  little  knife  crept  out  of  my  breast 
To  bury  itself  in  his  1  " 

TiNCHAURYA  {the  scentsprinkkr) 

"  If  Fate  should  say,  *  Thy  course  is  run,' 

It  would  not  make  me  sad  ; 
All  that  I  wished  to  do  is  done. 

All  that  I  would  have,  had. 
My  Lord  has  left  his  life  with  me, 

And  mine  divinely  glad  1 
146 


"  They  tell  me  I  may  be  deceived, 

1  neither  care  nor  know, 
A  lesser  love  might  well  be  grieved, 

With  me  it  is  not  so. 
My  Lord  has  lain  within  these  arms. 

And  all  the  rest  may  go  !  " 

One  of  the  Deva-dasi  {girls  dedicated  to  a  Temple") 

"  Shrivelled  and  aged,  with  never  a  rest, 

I  wearily  wander  from  Shrine  to  Shrine. 

But  Vishnu  is  branded  across  my  breast  ; 

The  Gods  themselves  were  once  lovers  of  mine  1  '* 

Lala  {the  door-keeper) 

"  I  went  to  him  as  a  willing  bride, 

He  did  not  use  me  ill, 
A  little,  perhaps,  he  broke  my  pride 

Against  his  reckless  will. 

"But  any  sorrowful  time  of  tears 

Through  which  he  made  me  go, 
I  minded  not,  for  in  after  years, 

1  loved  his  children  so  !  " 

Yasmini  {the  dancing-girl) 

"I  am  clothed  with  the  gold  and  the  kisses  of  men 
Antl,  nightly,  new  love-songs  impassion  the  air  ; 

For  awhile  1  shall  dance  in  the  torchlight,  and  then 
Comes  darkness  ;  and  desolate  depths  of  despair. 

H7 


"Oh,  Daughters  ot  Virtue,  to  you  it  is  given 

To  lull  with  caresses  new  life  at  the  breast  ; 

By  us,  in  our  beauty,  unshamed  though  unshriven. 
The  Youth  of  the  Nation  is  firstly  possessed." 

GuLARi  {a  slave) 

"The  thing  we  love  has  endless  charms 

To  while  away  our  discontent  ; 
IMcn  seldom  feel  the  weight  of  arms, 

Or  women  that  of  ornament. 

"  Her  hair  is  softer  far  than  mine. 

Her  gold-starred  teeth  more  almond  white, 
Her  eyes  so  often  mirror  thine. 

Small  wonder  they  are  always  bright  ! 

"  Her  happiness  unmoved  I  see. 

Though  I  am  naught  and  she  is  wed, 

Because  the  child  thou  gavest  me 

Is  living  still,  and  hers  is  dead  ! " 

The  Rani 

"  How  like  we  are,  how  all  the  same. 
We  think  one  thought,  we  play  one  game, 

Beneath  one  sceptre  bend. 
To  careless  slaves  or  curtained  queens 
Love  is  our  most  delightful  means 

To  a  delightful  end." 


148 


The  Tower  of  Victory 


The  starlight  night  was  cool  and  dim, 

Soft  clouds  bcflccked  the  tranquil  sky. 
She  climbed  the  hill,  and  reached  with  him, 

The  carven  Tower  of  Victory. 

The  Tower  that  rears  its  lonely  head 

Above  the  Jungle,  wild  and  vast, 
And  dreams,  perchance,  of  warriors  dead 

Who  held  the  hills  in  ages  past. 

Sweet  fragrance  drifted  o'er  the  land 

From  Champa  trees  and  Jasmin  flowers  ; 

The  lovers  wandered,  hand  in  hand, 

Through  long,  and  all  uncounted,  hours. 

And  when  the  night  was  mid-way  spent 

They  climbed  the  dark  and  broken  stair. 

Half  stifled  from  the  acrid  scent 

Of  countless  bats,  that  harboured  there. 

The  topmost  steps  had  fall'n  away, 

A  time-worn  ladder  took  their  pkce. 
Until  she  felt  the  night-wind  play 

In  coolness  on  her  upturned  face. 

H9 


At  last,  they  reached  the  highest  stage. 
Windswept  and  open  to  the  stars. 

The  battlements  were  worn  with  age 
But  waving  grasses  hid  the  scars. 

The  lonely  Jungle  lay  serene, 

Beneath  the  star-bejewelled  skies, 

They  turned  them  from  the  silver  scene 
To  seek  once  more  each  other's  eyes. 

But  when  he  caught  her  to  his  breast 
She  shrank  in  delicate  dismay  ; 

So,  chilled,  he  left  her  uncaressed 
And  drew  his  eager  arms  away. 

Her  eyes  beneath  their  lashes  hid 

The  tender  tears  that  left  them  dim, 

As  down  the  ladder-rungs  he  slid 
And  drew  it  swiftly  after  him. 

"It  must,"  he  cried,  "be  naught  or  all ; 

And  I  shall  come  no  more  to  thee 
Till  from  the  Tower  I  hear  thee  call 

To  say  thou  wilt  be  kind  to  me  1  " 


C( 


Stay  wow,"  she  begged.     He  would  not  heed. 
But  down  the  ruined,  twisting  stair 
He  crushed  his  way  with  reckless  speed 
And  reached  the  scented  outer  air. 
ijo 


But  when  he  scarce  had  left  the  Tower 
He  paused,  and  felt  his  anger  cease. 

Such  was  the  magic  of  the  hour 
Its  lovely  mystery  and  peace. 


Two  eyes  among  the  thickets  glow  ; 

A  stealthy  rustle  stirs  the  air  ; 
The  Tigress  springs,  and  lays  him  low, 

Then  bears  him,  senseless,  to  her  lair. 

There  was  no  sound  ;  he  gave  no  cry  ; 

The  careless  stars  looked  on  serene. 
The  Jungle's  sudden  tragedy 

Remained  unheard,  unknown,  unseen. 

While  on  the  Tower,  she  cried  in  tears, 
"  Return  to  me.  Beloved  of  mine. 

Forgive  me  for  my  foolish  fears 

Within  those  tender  arms  of  thine. 

"  Oh,  Brightest  Star  of  all  the  night 

Come  back,  and  shed  thy  light  on  me. 

And  thou  shalt  learn,  to  thy  delight. 

How  more  than  kind  1  am  to  thee!" 

In  vain  she  cried.  In  vain  she  wept, 

At  times  in  solitary  woe, 
Towards  the  inner  edge  she  crept 

And  looked,  but  dared  not  leap,  below. 


Before  she  died,  three  weary  days 

She  called  in  anguish  on  his  name. 

By  twilight  cool,  or  noonday  blaze, 
Her  luckless  lover  never  came. 

And  since  men  rarely  mount  the  stones 
That  form  the  Tower's  ruined  stair, 

It  may  be  that  her  small,  white  bones 
Still  wait  in  lonely  silence  there. 

Ah,  when  Love  comes,  his  wings  are  swift, 
His  ways  are  full  of  quick  surprise  ; 

'Tis  well  for  those  who  have  the  gift 
To  seize  him  even  as  he  flies  1 


Printed  by  Ballantvnb  &•  Co.  Limitbd 

Tavistock  Street,  Covent  Giirden,  Loudon 


DATE  DUE 


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